on quiet feet the evening
steals over the land
and sunlght's dying rays
caress the heated sand

waves roll on endlessly
sending currents to the sky
and wavesong dances quietly
over me with a sigh

my pen moves slower still
than the cooling air above
being absently turned
be a fan's incessant shove

the scent of the air is blue
and it's color, the endless ocean's
like the seas' of time
forever crashing motions

the little ship of me
that rolls delicately on its swells
is sometime's lost in the fog
of memory's long-empty shells

a night wind stirs the curtains
and pulls me from my reverie
my pen is laid to rest
as the setting sun sinks westerly