With a smile a little shorter
than the length of a teardrop
and a wavelength a little shorter
than a frown,
just an ebbing wave
forlorn and unimportant
to God and everybody except
the relentless taunts
the other waves with almosts
for them to drag you under
to your haunted house of retrospection

Rippling nothing in the view of God,
just a scream of a forgotten goodbye,
a muted burst to uncaring eardrums
in an already nostalgic pastel sea
the canvas of An Artist dumping buckets of gossamer paints.
Standby a buzzing rural town of
an aura reminiscent.
A smile completes a boulevard
and a gut-clenching onyx marble of
carefree sun rays glistening scratches of children's chalk
into memory.
Concrete Distance,
oh so many miles of useless contemplation yet
not quite longer
than the length of a teardrop.