Again.
From the weather.
The echo of a spine.
Them misconceptions pushed aside.
The pure dance in her eyes.
Nothing there changes.
That quizzical cast on the face of an infant
searches your library for memory.
Temporary glance across a faded room
save her from the stair starting the wave.
Not there to catch this time
Stranded and trying to catch breath.
It is a bellow that draws in the ocean
It resonates like the call from the deep
Things familiar fee fragile in this wind
Life dragged away in the torrent
of crime.
Forgot to check for a pulse
Time stretched out like desert sand.