Grown from talks, rows of wash
playing in the sand.
Catching three ancient seas
dripping from a hand.
Thrown from here, bursts of fear
flutter in the night.
Hitting four closing doors,
never taking flight.
Walks with the water to the west.
Headlights somewhere right, crashing off to the left.
Feet in a trunk face lightning,
flashing back to normal.
Not concerned with time.
Blown from real, eyes of steel
taking in the scene.
Watching two, right on cue,
as it’s meant to be.
Loaned from life, free of strife,
breathing in the surf.
Catching three ancient seas,
drops of different worth.
Sitting.
Connected and breathing.
Where nobody sees them.
Where they see what the seas bring.
this is your life chuck johnson 