*

.
not sure
if it was the metropolis
– and the jungles they hold
where we had roamed through
.
or the islands
within the same –
we felt alone among
thousands I could have
.
threaded on – not stapled
to my own thoughts of

failure focusing on

some other survival
.
the incessant sounds
attacking us louder
disorienting forcing

us on movement
,
or the far ones – in stillness
only the wind has a voice
stirring the waves to have
more and animals wild
.
eyes focusing off the horizon

squared lines confining
blocks or concentric ones
as the life rings on a tree
.
you count twenty eight then

call me out I found numbers
we had forgot – it used to be larger
green not the horrible burgundy
.
I shiver some on the island
we could hear the sound of
our own hair sitting close
animal’s life pulsing

.

.