tomorrow

its good to be on an even keel again,
set right by rain and progress,
our backs bucked by the wind
 our fingers blind to the brail,
 but our mouths open and drinking
 and the water the crystal prevails,
dreams and drams of prospect
 stuck into tack boards
with quarter inch nails,
 as we roll pointlessly
up and down half pipes
 and blow smoke into the sky,
 we've breathed promises
 into loves ear,
 we've pointed at possibilities
 we know really we won't give a chance,
won't try,
as we wrap our heads
around new languages,
 foreign street signs,
 unknown distances and cry,
that life is arduous, ill fitting romance,
that life is easy when its dry,
that the promises we prayed
were tied to birds that couldn't fly.