Made in the Maple Sea.

Seconds. Minutes.
Months.
Memories of you peel away.
Leave.
And I rest beneath the Maple tower with a bucket in my lap.
Collecting.
Ever collecting.
I see the sky
In the deep, still amber
I see the sky.
with Thick.
Honeyed.
Clouds.
Inching and inching,
Slowly rowing along the bottom.
I want to drink.
I've observed plenty,
I remember you faintly
And I want to toast to that again.
To reshape me.
But I hear the disapproval.
The misunderstandings,
Because only you and I speak bird.
That was us,
Everyone else was foul.

But I'm rambling.
Collecting those now in my lasting daze.
To the detriment of Me.

I'll sip again the nectar soon.
It won't be with or for or to you,
But it will be.

I just have to find another bird that hums my song.
With a brightly coloured smile.

Brighter even than the amber Sun warming the tin that's kissing skin of palms wherein the pulse replies.

The Hum.
The OM.
The HOME.

in the amber sea.