Pigeon Heart Ponderings

If you listen right, you can hear dreams crackling loud. It’s just an unexpected source is all.

The air is coated with paradise soft burning scents in exotic spice and bittersweet mandarin.

Somewhere not too far- a sultan and sea goddess enact a love scene. Enraptured.

Deserted beach shores glisten where giant blue whales share exchanges several meters off shore, hidden by the protective reflection of the new moon.

Their song mesmerizes hardened sailors, who’s whiskey bites and swishes forth and back.

Mermaids whisper promises:                                                                                                                                                        

You can run with me on dry land, my dearest darling                                                                                                                  

Just come swim with me here, now                                                                                                                                                      

The water is divine                                                                                                                                                                                 

Can’t you see the emeralds of my eyes? My ruby lips? My long black hair…

Mar dwelling bird’s wings rise and lift. Effortless.

Gone with the wind

Riding on the current

Trusting in the flow

The sun and moon are polarized- held to scale at equal, opposing ends of the sea.

Someone somewhere so taken by the beauty of the moment asks no one in particular if such a sight can be too strong and pure to be true?

Can something so simple as a vision be developed enough to lie? And if so, why would it?

Tropical trees tremble and shake- slower than sleepy sloths traversing inky, brimming, green~ where leave’s brushing sounds like~
yes      yes      yes

Bled and scraped by coral are so many knees, intensified from salt intrusion. Stinging. Penetrant.

Little, sinewy, brown boys play games at sunset, invading underwater castles. Small whittled swords. Would you dare challenge?

Every wise pirate has their golden mean.

Imaginations so vivid, owners of sheer will; one day to manifest and walk with their father’s stride; sleek, proud, agile.

The fathers who visit taboo isles of allure with mistresses of the night, debauchery, and tall tales each bigger than the last.

Stepping out in habit to hail the dark, enveloping blue, and scathing the cruise ships for all riches.

Surrender to a life of survival.

Never to fully embody rest, so fantasy must suffice. Sleep fills those pores

Cooling, fanned with palm fronds

Soaked in Kava, preserved in plant medice

Dancing drunkenly, always with one wild eye opened…

Until all the treasure has been knocked up from beneath the sand.