Trinity.

A trinity we are.
Two specks of dust
and a third,
each moment entwined.

Though it’s stormy now,
it’s alright.
Let it rage.
Let it thunder and crash.

I’ll sit with you under your blanket,
breathe in your medicine smoke.
To us – and imagination;
the holy third.

There I was in my younger days.
Star gaze.
Painting picture perfect maps
of how my life would be.

Discounting the unmarked roads
of feared misdirection.
My compass
far from perfection

I missed a million miles I might’ve seen.

The hail hurts, rain soaks,
I often choke.
Like silent screaming
in a dream.

Not content to bow and bend
to the whims of culture,
that soul-less vulture.

Eating us away to our extinction.