questions ?

the sullen eyes
that speak,
a heart on the sleeve,
the silent measure
it beats,
off the rhythm
free.

in distance
there is humor,
angelic reminiscence,
days with no static,
a leaf,
an asteroid yearning.

on a shared
cup of tea,
branches grow
beneath the solid,
confined to spaces,
where the wet surface
leaks.

with hands,
touching pavement,
upward the sky swimming,
is the ocean beneath?

the slow day
moves with exactness,
as drops glisten,
and noisey they wash
through
the city scapes,
the over grown trees,
abominated languages
scribed on walls,
what has the future become?