pieces of reflection leading blue lines scattered stories only remembered in photos, an old farm, buildings now long gone, a single moment still and content captured before the storm before waves washing over distort everything underneath. having heard your voice in my head, resonating, hold each string for a moment longer listening to each note, a voice mingling the various sounds, sweet and floating, or the rhythms of a drum in sync, in my chest, an african drum beat in 3s, weaving waking the start of something. pieces mingling, scattering, finding new form, parts of moments captured, a smile, a touch, before this distance only leftovers, left, what always remained under, washing over, lines scatter delirious and blue water meets sky at the endless horizon. where once imagined scented ideas sent on the wind, this still collapse.