The electricity fades in and out,

In this old farm house,

Lines once held in clay,

Need to be replaced.

The connection fades about,

As much as a fleeing mouse,

Who will only stay,

Until he’s chased.

Candles near their end

This love’s hands may not mend

The sand that seaps cannot intend

To roughen the bottle

And the message send.

But voices can be heard in the dim light.

And choices stirred if the heart’s right.

Those prolonged versions

Of conversations never had

May echo within the trees

And cast dispersions

Which may seem sad

But dream as happy as the breeze.

I dream with you when its quiet,

I speak to you when you allow me near,

In the midst of a full blown riot,

The apt description is lack of fear.

Scratches in the wooden floor

Trace imaginary lines to the knots

Which give shape to the pattern therein

The walkway becomes the psyche we explore

Making distinctions between our wants and oughts

Wondering how and where another ends and we begin