Songbook II

[Dandeli]

  
Clutched in my hand, a little bottle of glass, entrusted with the simple task of cradling my thoughts.
    
For some reason, this roiling anger dissolves. Maybe it is the daffodils knit between my fingers.
Maybe it is the fact it has spent all its woe. For some reason, I believe it is quietly confounded ..
.. Watching tides retreat, tides return. What was it again? A rise to each fall. An ebb to each flow.
All I hear now is a wailing requiem. In my dreams, I hear it in the cracks between dying light ..
  
.. thrashing, kicking, weeping. It hates my voice, but perhaps I can find the right words.
    
Clutched in my hand, a little bottle of glass, slowly but surely cast to the slowly flowing sea of blue.