not sleeping anymore

it still moves (revisited)

the boat rocks in lingering exhaust. i remember when i was 5
and the horizon was just a moving line.
now it's shrinking in the fog settled to the sound
of water foamed at the mouth, swallowing itself down.

i look down at all the leather shoes.
water beads my skin like sugar melted sun.
i hope no one sees
the salt in my eyes,
it still moves.
it still moves.

your eyes are the broken sentences of my mind.
the awkward pauses stretching through the same frame of time
that swept the streets,
with orange colored leaves and left the days
shorter in reply.

can you tell me why
familiar feels so good,
better than good itself sometimes.

posted by d @ 4:25 PM