Fresh water sea gathered around at my knees and feet.
Would the memory fade?
The gentle bear at the edge of a neon street?
The aggressive wallflower that would not give up her nylon seat?
Water, secretly breaking?
May, December, lovers on retreat?
My scattered thoughts…
Re-learning how to ebb, flow and sway?
Watching used to be pilgrims bob in and out of a rainbow bay?
There is a renewed ambiance to my heart.
No matter, how sparse the spark.
A kinship for broken brick streets.
Straight but not narrow with conceit.
Quiet is the comfort with being seated near dark pastels of an ocean at night.
By dawn, a mostly faded memory and I, will move on.
I will grasp hold to the feeling of release.
Such as, holding onto someone with a too tight grip.
Knowing tomorrow they will elude my fingertips.