The mid-day heat, scorches my feet, historical warriors, maintaining, a strangled peace.  I sputter those hours, between wakefulness, and sleep, aware of an irrational narrative -- spinning.  Lacking another option, I seek to relax, into that pit, of unknowing, and remember, the coolness of night, the pristine lullaby, of crickets, the bay-water running, gently, upon the shore -- sublime quietness, my commune, with you.  For a moment, I mistook, birth, for sex, and believed, what I suspect, I always expected – calendars are fraudulent, and compassion, is the antidote, for ailments, of all, time.