This is great; reminds me somehow... of, oh…if I was high I wouldn’t need to move from the baying at my door or the wall too heavy in the air while the wheels are so hard to shift that question I hear. And isn’t time funny where the wind blows the dust swept howl trying to move this burning desire to move the mountain; now why did I think of that? And what happened to all the bits that got left where the other thinking is? Where is that redhead who tagged along pulling a string, all lost in Morocco or Greece; I forget where anymore. Just breathe, big bird straight line flying, white hot sun shining, long river flowing, pebbles in the sand far from the hot highway’s unprotected reflections; was that your smile I saw in your open arms? Can I come in now?