Tripping

Tripping on syntax, falling through vowels and sprawling syllables; in doubt I write. Pen unsheathed I set course across dandelions and oysters, oceans and legends, still dizzied by the buoyancy of innocence in search of the blue, still, lagoons of your natal heart. And wish, we, there together, play under the arms of the first big sky, and there undress our genesis to the concert of waves, and there damb our exodus with the last breath left in heaven and there; rub in archaic love. We rise through the spaces in between busying words to remember to remember, if not we trace the voids like goasts on yesterday's wind, invisible, divisible by darkness and as blind as forever. The beginning was perfect in its silence and we, like towering clouds, filled the newborn air with play. At the end; the cruel and impertinent word turned the warbling call of curlews and the fresh plucked breath of children into the jingle, jangle, of jailers keys.