Landlocked coasts looking for a cove,
we wonder how we got here
and how we always know.
Lifelong drives looking for a road,
we wonder why they rush through
and why they never slow.
‘Hills were changing colors
right now last year, in front of my eyes.
Did she drink her name this time?’
Walking, he slows to take in the way the birds walk.
Others often glide across a manmade pond
without preference, perfect or real.
Watching the birds walking.
Writing around the water.
Long lost scenes looking for acclaim,
we wonder why it’s silence,
and why it hasn’t changed.
Love-drawn lives looking for a frame,
we wonder when we shattered,
and when we overcame.
Over time, lessons lessen the blow.
Sip of her name this time.
Feathers belting, some swimming to the other side.
Two in a frame, not the same but together.
While watching the birds walking.
this is your life chuck johnson 