Susan Smith Nash



A tryst on the boards, or simply blank looks;

water slipping under the bridge –


Don’t think time is like that, too.


Belief still described as a gift, or a talent.

It’s not a skill I practice under duress.


And yet, you see I am awakening – spirit like hooves

clattering across a thousand soundtracks, boundless like all unreality.


Free associations:  danger and beauty.


Some are wired away from the place they need to be,

Others wired for solitude, although it’s not what they want.


And, for those beachcombers of dreams –

Well, we walk together on water’s edge,


Swirling out on crests of history

While the tide slips in, out, underneath…