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lingering echos of the past
held us tight under the covers
 
the steam from our souls
rattled on to the rhythm of the thin panes of glass 
that weakly separated us and the whipping blasts of snow
the cold chains yanking at our limbs as we rise up

together we sneak a kiss surrounded by brass and glass
the seclusion we endured was only broken by the intrusion of our love. 

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That was the start.  I once thought the Sun was his heart. It was beating on my skin and I could feel the cool wind. 

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When I say artist I mean the man who is building things - creating molding the earth - whether it be the plains of the west - or the iron ore of Penn. It's all a big game of construction - some with a brush - some with a shovel - some choose a pen.

- Jackson Pollock

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Tonight, we will ride the wind together. 

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I believe the season of time never expires.

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The sky

It's there

Don't look now

The sky

It moves across your face

I can see it in your eyes

The sky