a northern breeze noisily sifts the waves,
        breaking a reverie with a youthful sound --
          lifting a green salute, and reminding me of you . . .
 
        on the shore of a dream long deferred,
           and turned mute from lack of telling --
              no one to listen in flourescent tombs . . .

        a long greyness -- a mocking void,
            cannot sustain the illusion
                as orange flames lick the promise
                    of tomorrow's word from you,
                        a strand not yet traversed . . .