In the Garden

Off in the distance,

ocean waves promise a brighter future.

Pacing through the countryside to arrive,

the muscles, tense in my cheeks, become looser.

I have yet to move,

Green shadows light the way.

My being is lucid, thoughts become fluid,

All life is slipping back into the ocean.

The horizon is calling,

Our souls drift vertically

Today.

Tomorrow, horizontal forces will steal us away

from our routines.

The tree with the peacock feathers for leaves,

Never sees where I dream,

Unless I’m under her,

Sleeping next to a picnic basket,

No longer full of scones and peanut butter.

The body in the dirt road is maligned,

Too small to be taken seriously.

I listen still,

As it evaporates behind us.

Existence becomes fluid.

A new town emerges on the upcoming horizon,

Yet this town does not reside

Within the ocean.

Someone should warn the inhabitants

Before they drift

Vertically.