In the morning you can reach out and see on the breeze in the mind the damp stone tightening straps keep him in place the pain in his cell the confession conversion meaningless at this point or the life by the sea rough stone grey the children I pushed through and lined up in the earth and the cliffs so beautiful lonely one time one town on the frontier barely built I can still smell new cut wood that simple home sun creeping through seams in the wall another sunny place warm weather sweet breeze always fetching writing down his many thoughts the wine was good

morning clean a free breeze bruises still there but in soft light something about omelets better coffee perhaps a walk in that park we’ve been meaning all through the day carry a small splinter that sparkles later in the meeting we easily talk about our supposed subject matter though the shadow of the looms large we still laugh cobble jokes from horrible headlines and yes I saw your post and clicked the appropriate button but tomorrow I will unfollow you