kind
if rain is river and river
is free should cloud not be
what the sun is to the sea
music makes sense to the dream
as a train to a track in the speed
of wishes that are what they seem
the fact remains in the word and the word
hangs on to the sword as it cuts
through the mysteries of the mind heard
only in kinds of kind
there are more words than grains of sand
for man speaks and reaches a hand
too easily but as for me
i cannot find, in truth or lies,
words good enough to describe your eyes
for gillian