The following is a response to “Fleeting,” a post written and shared with me by a good soul, Lindsay Amanda, whom I had the honor to work with four years ago.

Lindsay, I am both proud and humbled by your work, and I know you will cease the fleet to live and love, at every door, along the way.

This is for you.

image: rus vanwestervelt, from photos taken at Gettysburg National Historic Site

RunSlamB r e a k

The doors I pass, all locked and sealed

with the rust of rush

of years gone by.

You, me, we as winds whip us through

so blindly we go

here, there, and every no-where.

But we–

we

RunSlamB r e a k

now

at every rush-rusted door

and live to love and love to live

and wash the rush with wishes made

here, there, and every-where.

Open doors, opportunities,

the sounds of suns sifting through red-yellow trees

seeping seeds of life and love made long to live. . . .

Carry the key always, Lindsay

and never let the rush of rust

push you by-and-by that once-opened door.

It was always meant for you.

For you, for you.

RunSlamB r e a k

for you.