Things to write about, thoughts absorbed, hands in spasm;
The dream was uninteresting and I’d rather stay awake.
Couldn’t ask delight of better days,
It was enough the wind in my back.
The sun across the moon, the little pauses.
Right now I live; I watch the sun burst, the moon yellow.
Listen to the sound of your lungs,
The air rushing in and out,
Hands silvering the grass green in our shoulders.
Everything else was still, absorbed, written in spasm.
