I wait for you on soft ground
as words float off my moleskin page
and flowing water trickles through cracks
of time and place,
as melodies freely form
in the here to there and everywhere
so strong the visions—they hum
past, present and yet to come
And I but a mirage I see from afar
watching the story with the door ajar,
as it—slowly—unfolds in front of my eyes.