a bo...

a book is held closed with an elastic band. these are the feelings that he once understood, and now, cannot: drowning in dry tears while the clouds pour lead, losing to the oceans, and laying in harvested wheat-fields. endless time, blowing through as an apparition. he saw love once (using the term quite carelessly) as a flow, continuance and uninterrupted, maybe like a river that has no run off , secluded almost in existence. and then there's us, two boats on a lake, at dusk and dawn. searching for our rivers.