we pass the point of no return, each generation deaf to the landslide.

pull up the blanket, rest the flatland in sleep.

remnants, not much, a pram, a commode, a take out. skipped at the old peoples home closing it's doors for the last time.

under the beech tree we toured the solar system, you named the planets, and i dreamed the adventurers.

borrow all you need, beg for clemancy bend to the wind. begin.

a neat cut, a token tip riding the vernacular, cover for the morass, the steady shame.

you did good, yet on the walk home, the shine slipped away.

half way buried by lived life.

solar glare through an open rib cage.

to what do i tie the end of my line, stay, the morning says give me your attention.

and in the dust i meet the blush and the rose of days past.