Pairs and groups, of birds and humans,
Everyone locked in their own perceptions,
Answering to singular hungers.
There are common sounds,
An expanse of sand, drifting swells,
The milk of the white sun foaming
To make us think we're one
As the wind gives its customary cold
Shoulder to all of our questions.
You perch here on the bluff with me,
Proposing your own solutions
Before you walk out toward the sun.
My spirit bends to hear your voice
As it licks to absorb, but there's
Something I am not that won't dissolve,
Still my spirit walks away with you
But a part stays back, conflicted,
Surprised you are no closer from a distance.
