I see the joyful wrinkles in the leather,
Reclining in chaotic peace with you,
What outpost in such daring seas adrift,
What fortress, buttress of the truth we find,
This band of brothers clothed in laughs so freely given.

Crack of dawn 'till sealing dusk,
A day too lengthy 'morrow paid,
At least it filled with all it ought,
A frantic dance between the realms of thoughts and places.

I once heard,
That poems reach out,
And stoop their shortest,
As a single symbol,
Foreign even to forgotten scripts,
But that's a cop out,
Instead I'll settle,
For blowing hot air about it.