133 or My Promise

The sides are blurred.
A rushing sound
A thousand waterfalls
Clashing for infinity
Like echoes down great halls
Grey, blue, brown
The bottom is a black dot
Distant
Forever away
We’re swept around the sides
Coming in and out of our dreams
A tree
With a red swing
Some postcard pleasantries
A nightingale and a sweet song
And then back
Bruised like old fruit
Our skin sagging
Clothes on a line
Wet with dew
And all our dreams
Are drip dried into the
Earth
The dirt
Swallows our clothes
our greetings
polite declarations of gratitude
What’s left is me
Mine
But now I see
Clipped grass and a hymn to
My lord
My paper and pen
My easel dusted
Here I am!
You are gone!
We are listless in the wake!