It’s the claiming hour

where fear rides a black sedan
through streams of blank faced commuters
scurrying with their reasons going slowly nowhere:
it’s a cavalcade of age ,
behind your lines I see the shadow
of young freedoms;
everything you say makes perfect pitch
pineapples on my doorstep
clear blue seas, brings strength from near exhaustion.

It’s the taming hour

cut crusts crumble
vulnerability a seashell random with the tide
swaying of your mind open to fresh mornings
dragging treasure from a cave I’d lost:
nothing gives a clue, memory lingers in body’s cells:
like the others you repeat my name in cadent raspings
till I can turn and learn to see
crystal imaginings fired to sharp reality
on the wind’s curve.