Where the West Ends
the past is somewhere someone else once made a journey.
where the west ends (perhaps where the world ends) This Old Earthquake starts to play.
sanguine easy summers, blue water and an endless sky wait for the storms to roll in.
tanned grass losing its balance on sentinel cliffs. at night between sea and constellations, seamless sketches of well chosen words
drop into the waves and foam below
and unfinished dreams toil brightly, lightly, always forward with much care for who's fallen, yet helpless for what's happened, still gracefully, forcefully, showing the way back, to us, to now.