Nine months

theirs are common dreams, lively talks, reverential appreciations of life that they share; and theirs is the moment. that ability we have to stay awake in ourselves, do this dance and that walk, find a meal together, sift through pages of words to land in silence, written visualizations, painted texts, sand, mud and straw packed into the walls. we are they finding us for i and you in lifting falling - massive clouds flying toward sun, gaping wounds of light marking trails on the wide lake of grass, plastic shoes afloat, dangling, uncorrupted willing grins pealing the wrappers from each sweet truffle of time, dusting it, biting half and passing, licking lips with silver raining down the chin, gills open to the brine, fins flashing, wander down my arm young spider, sit on the back of my hand and laugh to yourself, its a pig in mud world when each second grips awareness, releases, focus and dream, gurgle gurgle.