Not a there
An amiable hovering of undefinable and yet known
There are shells that echo on the shore, here

The being here, where is never a need to go to desolate mountains or deserted plains
A here, where the heart will never need to empty out the coils of aching

When oceans don’t turn their pages, and pens live on their shore for long
Here, in an accepting of life
Shells yet echo your poems

Each word opened as liberated clouds
Rains go to those mountains, plains and hearts

When your being was there
The Ocean gave a new alphabet of union
An undefinable and yet known
Love finds you here
Here, where the pen never embarked to void forever