Hang twelve

The movement of waves, watching the careening motion
of molecules and the affect on matter and space.
(Retirement places pressure on a working existence.)

Your hair grows long and lighter in the sun,
smiling in perfection at blue days and pacific wind.
(Care and worry at possibility of disaster looming.)

A world beneath us moves at it's own rhythm,
polyphonic drumbeat vibrating to a greater whole.
(CRT light and flourescent chatter on the wiring.)

Crashing waves in continuous motion,
scrim on the surface, we wait for our perfection.
(A dull dread before the day begins again).