Troubled child,
By the bay,
A second snack utopia.

The thing about,
And in the waves,
Held hands open under water.

Coughing fits,
And second stories,
Man about the world alone.

The second morning,
And yet more mourning,
I set paths about way forward.

With stretch and feeling,
A baseless meaning,
A gift held deep in wet hands.

I stand in winds,
In windy roads,
The moonlit ending horizon.

Yet there never cease,
The endless screaming,
A child not forgiven.

Lonely in cold corners,
Alone again,
Sickly and fickle creature.