Nocturnes bleed through the landscape, 

wandering their watery way through the

 melodies of twilight.  

Sometimes we can hear them clearly.  

Other times their subterraneous presence is a distant

 drum beat, faint, but none the less disturbing.

 

There are ways through. 

 Usually.

 

But sometimes there are only endings,

blocks of dense unknowns.

And then, there is only standing and waiting, 

for the way through and around is in solidarity

with all that is not yet understood.