Poisonous things,

shooting stars and lyrics that resemble plants and vines that scratch your head or wrap around your head and neck,

around your triceps.

We are dreaming now , we’ve arrived, half awake, half tattooed and utterly indistinguishable.

Half awake, and my legs do still work,

even if its all quicksand, or a series of treadmills,

stretching out for miles, and miles

and miles….

That sharp sound,

those treadmills,

occasionally hitting the exact same note but still coming up well short of our goal, my goal,

the plan.

those treadmills.

These spiders.

We cant end it when we should, when we would like, without tracking sand all over the house.

“Slow down ! ” they say.

They always say that,

They always walk like that….

We still couldn’t locate where any of the sounds came from,

…..not really …no.

Its still not hitting my ear the same, that same glass sound,

a tinkering, that is swelling to be so much more than that , eventually.

But you chiseled them away,

lifted them right out of the rock, eventually.

All those sounds,,

as if they were weightless and now they are only waves,

Waves that you brought here,

Waves that brought you here,

without even tracking so much as a speck of sand into the house.