Stuck in some crayon canyon

Fog bones drizzle clouding over

Dry air 

One of those just out of reach days

Studded with ideas 

Just try to grasp and it’s gone

slipping into somewhere

Chess in a vaulted room

Summer in the garden house

Free falling into a feeling

that

Yesterday meant the history of memory

Where we send it spare or awry  

Where do we send it?

Pour granite over 

Spilt slides side to slight fall

Down tomorrow

from whence

the bone the breath 

all else is for us to do

 to compensate to feel good

so as to not feel pain 

that be real or imaginary

fear of night of no warning

of beasts

Of dusky bats flittering  

Bringing memory to bear

On it all.