Set the horizon just above the bones
There.
Lying deep in chill
Layered in soiled mantles,
The spring grass waits
In the churn of hope
And the customs that years tend to build.
Like promises from old friends:
Taken easily,
without haste,
And carried through the field.
.
Mind this vista well.
Explore the escapes of hills
And secret creeks,
Long walks during the bright times,
Wanderings during foggy mornings,
And the staggering stupors
Of the dying weeks.
.
Lean back,
Eyes closed,
Stars above,
Feet below.
Breathe the air,
Sparkling now,
Shimmering,
In evening’s soft glow.
.
Shaken Rain 