Reach River—reached by fording gentle series of streams scattered ‘cross Shorten Valley and the hills above and just below Viaduct—crumble-tumble and the ruins of Park Edge. Night falls— and forest of silver trees—twisted branches—bare ground—neon streaks of color and bump-lumps of silver and pearl—black—sky—stones—patch-socket-pocket-light—against sapphire twinkles in the starless night—ground beyond—forest—twin ice ponds as seen—as be—before the roar and dream.

Seven Bridges—call today’s name—and bridges gone are bridges—still—short gap ‘tween birth-death—and simple series—killer memories—events found-lost-cost-change—and—arrange—as bright flash streak and ground strike bounce—endure—rebuild—recharge—destroy and kill—will. Home gone—fall down—downed twists of metal and motor and spirit free—too suddenly—gone-to-be-to-see—too real and fording a gentle series of streams—others do-start-and-stop-again.

These—everyday fail to notion-grasp the chance of peaceful motion—depends on how-where you be—when flash streak—smoke reek—eye burn—tear and fear and the warp of notions peace cease—little ones die before—killer memories evolve—into sweet substance and light bright smiles. Just bump-bangs away or a simple sail—set-to-wind—rail balance—‘neath ruin— bridges of seven—or on—another land-fall beneath another sky—homes to build—caves to clean—and again for a short while—arrival—life comes home. Better—than missile speak or places too far gone to seek—bomb shelter—chance for other—another dance before smoking tears or tomorrow-sorrow—death—peace—good life—ways forgotten—gone.

Roll-rocks-‘sweet-child-of-mine’ own whirling-twirling worlds where over many stones—gather children sun-lighted-secrets of time and tales and stories fine—waiting just outside a door-to-open again—to friend—to bend—flower touch—at rainbow bridge-ridge above valley—or beneath sapphire inked sky and twin moon high…Rather sail—another land—beneath other sky—to—dance ring ’round rouses—rock-roll—small hand touch— to-place-to-enjoy—warm summer night breezes—hair dancing ‘cross small faces— hiding eye just before hair is brushed away—to better see—life-to-be.

Please cease—‘Rockets-red-glare-or-bomb-bursts-in-air’…Rubble crawls are not familiar fare…Homes built should never-ever-be destroyed—Life builds—Always builds. Hồ Chí Minh -[ho̞˧˩ t͡ɕi˧˥ mɪŋ˧]–His name a synonym for the ‘Bringer of Light’…Born Nguyễn Sinh Côn—and wishing his country free of the Imperial tyranny of France—while in an idealistic—dream— sent letters to Woodrow Wilson and Harry Truman (presidents of another Imperialistic Nation—called the world’s greatest Democracy’—to champion Vietnam’s struggle for independence from France—He received no answers…

Garden—hilltop high and we arrive twice—to plant flowers and remember—sometimes with our voice. Tree lined field already picked and plowed of life…Inside woods—look down to cattle and fences and trees and fields—a creek now dry—except for trickles of water caught by pools—a deposit of rain cover along this hill and into valley—just last evening. Had we met on planets not keep-steep in folly-farce—and—hurried as our meeting—we could have—or just maybe—penetrated our uncertainties and our greed…We do not meet—we silence peace—we sail on to another land beneath another sky. ‘Rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in air’—wiz-bangs everywhere and certainly never-peace-everywhere—ever—good-enough-to-matter-to-the-matter—anywhere and We Cry…

And! Beautiful you are…

‘On Every Street’—written by Mark Knopfler—performed by Dire Straits