confused moments


burns bright -
light strong.
freedom and ease perpetuated
from within,
and without -
within your reach,
but just far enough
not to touch it,
not to feel
the love,
the peace,
the way.
inside of patterns
are the lines
the lines that draw,
and snap ,


the left twig twitched,
seemingly and undauntedly
toward the east -
eastern seaboard, shark breath
gnash and gnaw -
gashing and ripping tears,
the tears of the old mariners'
for that which has gone down
in gasping lack of breath.
the bubbles are pretty,
fleeting as
they leave me -
my breath.
as they dissipate and bubble off,
I die, with wonder at
their beauty,
and gurgle,
just twice

Ian Little