I walk down the misty docks,
gray sky sleep above,
roof for the melancholy mood,

In the smell of fish,
i walk with the rain
as it
e t
c h

e s
down my hair,
changing course at every move,
sounds of industrial collaboration
penetrate natures groove,

I wait on th e wood,
standing still
for the man delivering it,

Late.

Gloomy figure into play,
cursing natures groove,
angry and annoyed he scurries away,
running, avoiding the elemental frenzy,

He hands me the box.

Turns back toward the city,
seeking his muddy sanctuary,
he, curser of the elements,
back to which he came,

I sink into the vesicle,
down beneath the sea,
by her permission,
i will breath,

Sounds of human chaos
sift though
salt and steam,
echoes call far from home,
whistles and bells,
now you are in her realm,

Sights of metal fall short,
in the depth of her eyes,
trade your cars and women,
for reefs and crevices,