We Fish

The road is dusty

but not the air.

It is thick with fragrance.

The rocks are hot and flat.

The sun? Furious and friendly.

Fence rows rise above.

On either side, tall, strong

green corn peeks over their tops.

The fences stretch up and away

over the hill ahead disappearing

under the welcoming arms of oaks.

They edge the road way

back down the hill;

down from where we came.

Up the next. Over the horizon.

Cerulean blue the sky.

Overhead the leaves

busily rustle the breeze's secret

held in their highest reaches.

Here we step, cane poles in hand,

can of worms fresh dug,

old, rusty hooks, newfound.

The dew lifts.

Her cheeks, flush with morning,

warming to the sun.

Water's laughter discloses

the cool glade

under golden shade

where we sit on the bank

feet dangling.

Current washing off the dust.

Washing off the hot road,

and the weight of the world.

We cast. Bobbers joyfully bob;

dutiful sentinels for the distracted.

The air freshens.

Our eyes meet.

We laugh.

We kiss.

We fish.

Fiery wreathes of rage spiral,

circling, emerging invincible force

boundless and bound as Evil's bane.

 

Entwined, enmeshed the threaded borderline;

matter with spirit mingling. Shade plays light.

Astral demons cast lies upon pain.

 

Fractal belief cripples mortal souls

within ever-tightening coils of slight regard;

dalliances with vanity insane.

 

On beds where trees promenade

corpses that will never know the spirit's clash.

The earth writhes and regains.

 

Two souls reach. Meet connection.

Darkness recoils from radiating atonement

closing the circle once again.

Cycle

One Is Two

We fell

to land here;

a knot

of me, and thee.

Fully,

we turn

in our dream

as the world;

as we.

The mist,

humid breath

of life

still as death,

shall rise

soon (though not)

as me and thee;

raindrops

from the sea.

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