Breeze blown whispers of reeds surrounding
the live in the moment now, with painted seashells lining decks of lighted darkness to be kept.
The moment rises up bamboo pointed to the sky with twinkling, and a chair that rocks on four legs.
Cheers to the maybe and every faded memory.
Years of the waiting and every let it be.
My blood runs not hot nor colder still
for no rush is needed to see.
On This Path 