the blue spectrum cellophane and baking powder espy flecks of sunlight as they cling to pieces of detail, liquid upon contact in landscapes.
the comparison of choices and casual destinies collide under accidental stars,
who hide behind trees, with fishing nets cast so perfectly across their bodies.
we sit between luggage, swaying in sync with our heartbeat-throb of suggestion,
knitted with wool too thick, a string of solid haze.
(there was a whisper among us,
that no one would reconstruct.)
as erratic as an unfolded neckline,
matching the sea line,
opposing the sky line.

there were no lines which we could not create.