Whose counting
This clock on the wall
In the foyer
With the book in a freshly dusted shelf
Whose watching
This face covered with a mask
No one
Whose needing to say something
Each one of us
Whose sitting still in the great wave
The inner most self
Locked in chains in screams
Hope for the whistling hour
Small acts in the shake
Whose laying parallel
In the hovering arms
Wings filled with fresh clippings
Outback the flourishing nourish
Granular mannerisms crunching
Once placed in the pocket of someone else
Fell through a hole
Onto a leaf
Picked up by an animal brushing by
Running from the rules
Whose waiting
For the beauty in nothing that is sure to give us a ride
Simple rituals so sweet in their intention
Street knowledge
Informed the open air
Open dreams for all that will fly
Meta embrace
Shuffle the scene like a tarot reading
Reframe the parameters in a willing way
You can have the physical
Pushing rocks uphill
Until the water comes
Always finding the way around
Whose the obstacle
You
Hazy Acres 
Your Thoughts