The remains of destiny’s marrow
at the table of silence.
Filled by famous mermaids
from the memories’ waves.
in elementary aloneness
but who cares?
For the moment I endure
though always caught unawares
in the basic music of digression.:
the word “brew”a heavy progression
from “dew”,yes in the beginning it was
morning pure, a splendid lure…
then it sank into its broth,
it had to compromise with its own froth
and it grew and grew.
So we must brew
through whatever we are
cheered and checked by many a star.
While sighing back into the lost former dew,
in a bright drunkenness sometimes
in the wake of the stars’ thrashing miles.