There is a struck of light upon the pavement.
The sun seems to whirl its way towards the reflective
surfaces that glassy our eyes.
People walk cutting the air, as it’s still settling, yawning
meanwhile we cross upon the start of the day.
Where the city allows it, grass, leafs and trees stretch with
a promise.
For a moment everything is slow; patient.
Chaos crawls over your shoulder and whispers at you,
just as mermaids would sing to sailors.
As you take a deep breath, you let go the air in your
lungs, and the gentle grasp of the promise that time has made to you
as you gave yourself into oblivion the night before.

The thought of a word. The slow touch of the not yet arrival.
The unseen that forwards you, as you retrieve into concealment.
The welcomed grasp of the unknown.
The unstoppable fate long foreseen.
The retrieval to an uncharted abashment for the wellbeing.
The spoken truth that eliminates the stillness of the staidness
as one is.