under trees at the beach

big cooking pot of ideas,
things go in and surface
at the top,
slotted spoon ready to skim
off sludge
wind blows, rustle through leaves,
cooling, letting ideas rise
gently to the surface,
a delicate fizzy bubble drink

by myself on a bench at
the waters edge
to the shore and out
across the great big lake
sparks,
little spark plugs in the mind,
sticks found and rubbed together
consistent inconsistent
the big soup pot boiling away

time divided, noted, arranged
criss cross our lifes
over giant landscapes,
taking planes, trains automobiles
hopping and hoping and walking
strokes towards and away
and the even greater landscape of our mind,

individual, collective,
search for commonalities
sameness- comfort in the eyes of another
in the touch
bound in silky string thoughts
to each other
casting our psyhic nets
over around about

so sad it hurts and so happy it flys
at the very same time,
regard for the detail for the sameness
and the delicious differences

mostly savouring the moments
without force
either holding or giving
but just letting

sending winged hearts out
of the chest, knees, feet, mind, hands, ears
-and also flashlights
to find those very same winged hearts
when needed most
in the pitch
black
darkness

kisses, gentle touch, fond hellos
goodbyes and inbetweens
let it fly
let it rain
love.