wheels speeding along the tracks 
tearing through wheat fields 
and dingy little towns 

always a shadow behind 
while everyone else moves forward 
there’s an imagined nostalgia 

years ago it was a bus depot
with wool coats and coin operated tvs
and a glorious smell of diesel

an ever-shrinking circle of family 
after setting anger and hurt aside 
leaving a gaping wound but peace 

inside temperature-controlled bubbles 
watching the world pass by 
connecting with trees as the rest is a blur

I love the sideways moon
and how the air feels smokily crisp 
with echoes of you on the wind
across miles and time 

It’s quiet outside my head
but my heart is as pure 
as my beginnings in the blue hills
which makes me dance funny

I love the dark hours 
when I’m depleted by the day
with nothing left but memories 
and hope for tomorrow

a glowing smile 
slipping into the waters 
as sun calls it a day

a dancer kicks at the foam
at the edge of the sea 
and laughs at the warmth 

a touch of magic 
in bubbles and rocks 
holding down the landscape 

love words whispered 
with only stars to hear 
and a myth goes to bed

they’re cold and sparkly 
endlessly interesting but distant 
so abstract as to be everything -or dust

there are no answers there
just as there are none in clouds or leaves
-they all fall with time 

but who cares about time
in the moments of suffering
when no direction feels right 

the stars are a clock or a bear 
or little dream beacons 
disappearing from view in daylight