Farewell, My “seafood market”

Pass the key, to the serenity.

Helped by the dawn, seal my day.

Gentle breeze grinds faded verses into pulp.

Aroma hides in loam, hasty — speedy —

“Seafood market”, lying on the wood desk.

Flowing water echoes softly beneath the moonlight.

Who, hangs on the edge of a dream, silently?

As if never here — or somehow just seen.

Some time has slipped through my palm.

My heart absorbs some dark lines.

Time picked away old troubles.

And tought me how to turn aground, gentle and subtle.

Farewell, my troublesome “seafood market”.

Farewell, the dreamlike sound of flowing water, clear as a chime.