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.

The way through and around is in solidarity with all that is not yet understood.