We Are Here

An indispensable sound of despair
Creates the sustained breath of all listening

Glass bottles 'ping' together,
Almost unnoticeable

Rain drops fall soft on canvas tent
And the smell
Mixes perfectly with cigarettes
creating a aroma

One after another
deep drum beats pound
Adding to hearts tempo
We are all one in that moment

Where can we go?
Where have we been?

Without discourse the sound continues,
Freedom comes to mind

Why?

Running perfectly with blown leaves
Bells ring of our inner monk,
Indigenous foragers,
solar eclipses.

Harsh forte articulates a continuous tone to twirl
All thoughts at that infamous Wailing Wall

What are you cleaning Phillip?
What is left to prepare?
An early exit?

A lonely and thoughtful walk waits.
Wes will admit a lot to himself
Yet not the droplets running off his jacket
But the sweet sound of the hour before

Sadness is all that resonates
With such simple silence
Which postulates an individual embrace
Of continued direction.