The shadows feel like water.
The way they move around me,
reminds me of my daughters;
the light kept from them, the silhouette they see.

Prescient moments arise
lived backwards like memories,
rowing past soft pastel skies,
in the universe’s transient reverie.

A burst of life shines like hope,
feels compassionate like home,
the sober end of a rope,
that will throttle the throat when we are alone.

These moments shouldn’t be here,
any purpose they portend
defies the cadence once near.
We all curve in strange places as time bends.