peace is lost

we imagined

the offshore oil platforms 

invading warships 

here @ the meeting

of land and sea

how quickly peace

is lost



I support you, said the strata below. The strata was unimpressed.

He laid himself lengthwise out under the sun, facing away. With nothing to say.

The substrata wanted to cry and fall to pieces, but was very brave and held herself together. For the strata.

The strata did not hardly notice. He wrapped himself soft around the moon.

The one below wrapped herself unseen around him. Her utmost energies enveloped the strata and the moon. Like a homespun cocoon.

That night the earth moaned and trembled and shook a bad dream. The terrifying terribles tumbled up through earth. A wave emanated out the circumference. The center of which, where dreams arise.

The morning. Heralded by a rooster. Cocked with a pigeon step out into space. Firm and feathered. Solitary horn.

The sun rose over a fissured and crumbling sub surface. The strata was sunken. The moon gone around the bend.

The sun exposed its every sunken ripple harshly. The strata. Searching for an edge to burn.

None was to be found. The angered sun set fire to the land, all around. Sirens and trucks. The running of the wildlife. Away away away. Trees crashing through the canopy.
The strata lay low and frightened. Whole and untouched. Chosen to exist. Loved and held once, not long ago. Burning fields all around. The sound the sound the sound! No oxygen in the air. Consumed, the world.

The only love alive, recalled. The strata knew, remembered! And lit up and turned its weary back around to face her finally. To fall to fall to fall into her loving arms!

All was left to face, was bits and broken pieces. Some bed of torn up gravel, no! No no no. This cannot be! The strata felt alongside groping lengthwise up and down for her.

But she was never to again be found. Just as lost as she had been. Hours before the moon had gone around the bend. And out to shine.

To shine across the sea.