The good days,
When the sun pierces the mist that isn't smoke,
remind me
to breathe
every once in a while.
These are the images I fight for:
when the scorpion hangs and stabs and stabs,
waves in a calm and friendly sea…
They remind me
things lived here once,
and biters bite
only those who swim alone.
It's days like today—
the good days
when I forget to fear tomorrow—
that I can see
your face.
But the bad days,
always seem to rear their head
before I reach the shore.