The earth quakes in thunder claps
a hapless dressing for a proud sun
melting clouds enough for rain.
One is born, another dies
a constant neverland of never come again.
Proprietary glances dished out in advance
of something larger, much more engaging
than a pin prick, or head shift in shame
as the living goes so does the owning
of choices made along the way.
I do not look at you as just
or JUST, I am only listening
for as long as I can before I have to go.
There was a man from Oklahoma
three pigs and a nagging wife.
He shot himself at midnight
could not live another day.
I am on the far side of the mountain
the purple water falls on rocks
in the shimmering moments of self pity
I too have wished for more.