The sea, and the sky 2009 All of the trees I saw paraded behind your old favorite place, once beautiful in the summer night lit by candles to ward off mosquitoes from the scent of steak soaked in lemon, salt and garlic, now the perfect image of barren, fit to crush in new boots for the oncoming winter. The ocean stakes its claim of the Earth in the daylight, moon white against the sky lit by the sun, but consumed in a startling blue. I hear death stalks the house, lingering behind new occupants, just curious enough to make a mistake. All things considered when glooming, you made certain to show kindness at all times, therefore I’m certain he’ll find a new game to play. On days off I’d sun bathe in the back, waiting. The right day brought the scent of the sea, and the sky would match the hue of lagoons in prime tourist locations I, as a tourist, would never have the fortune to bombard. It’s just the lakes, you’d say, to make me feel closer and maybe better without necessarily sacrificing the fact of my delusion. Sugared dreams of landscapes, but nary an action to render a purposeful existence, a good explanation for your resistance to all the change I cooed about wide-eyed and ill prepared for the world. Cup an ear to the dirt, the yard being a large grassy shell, and listen for the boom of the waters set to break from the sky, color of shale, dirtied white socks, graphite smeared fingertips and nothing blue. I would soon leave this place, and you. The time good enough and left for strangers to sift through. I hear the trees are gone, the towers I watched sway in good storms that colored the sky green, the towers I watched covered in leaves, still refuge for beasts and burial grounds.