I envision something different the next time around.
The valleys risen, flushed into flat plateaus.
The mountains leveled by way of softened
moss, crushing into the plains and caresses that
stretch across sea-leveled vision.
A walk into shallow water, a wade into the tepid fashion
of revelation. Here there is no other side.
The ocean travels without barriers. A title beckons.
Words are soaked with desire for truth.
Lonely is only washed blood sitting tight.
The distorted angles of fear.
All is known by way of understanding,
Anonymity and animus.
Nothing is now. No barriers to sound.
Every child is visible here. The cries can be heard across the moss
and the leveled valley.
Across the ocean the hungry child will be heard
crying in your backyard.