06 Apr The Odessey

The tide talks to the waves,
Surely a wave talks to the moon;
The shadows of it’s craters
Cast a dry spell on the dunes.
To be wrong or
To be ripe,
An unwavering equation;
The answer to which relies upon
A viable sensation.
The lungs inhale and exhale
In simultaneous song,
Their breath, in equal portion –
A hyperbolic yawn.
Where truth and fable,
Hand in hand,
Cast their rocks on the water,
Forming temples in the sand
Just to see them slaughtered.
But the tempo of the night
Increases in its measure,
Whether we were
Wrong or right,
This place still is our treasure.