A softening crispness
permeating the dappled tresses
of wistful milkfish twilight
as I filter out the silvered leaves
cascading to the murmuring voice
of tranquil brooks beneath my ear...



Come,
hide behind the woodshed with me
laughter in the murky shadows
- We pull at threads between us.



Inked toes in placid waters,
rustle in the dimmed light
of chalky downs and rowan trees
we stamp our feet to territory's soil
dance to the loamy tones, sway
on weary limbs, and fall
on darkened sand...


Our voices lingering on, long after we are claimed.