Tone Drift

Standing high the rain and the happiness of rain. Hats and gear for the laziest Sundays since gone time. Shells closed in little hands made of chattered questions. Animal sounds in instruments: bear growls, etc. We ache the days we miss, in our pixelated haze, a ripple of limbs. Hyphens moderate the pain of disconnected family and words chunk out accordion guts. Overactive dust-motes dance sideways down empty halls. The beams of sun know how to rock the walls, like a mighty spoon. Silver in light, we came here by boat, and we leave on heavy wind. Birds are never lost in dreams, as they carry us on the wing.