innocents

I've heard
the howling screech
of a towering griffin
with greedy talons
and iridescent wings

but I just want
the simple things
like the smell of
oak leaves
on a summer day

as the shore swells up with foam
curdling tears
in lonely notes
of a song
that makes us smile again

the reality is memories lost
while skirting through the grass
alone by an effervescent spring
coming deep from a sink hole's quells

as torrents of bells
blast and ring
swallowing a shore-bird's scat
from the bag of a tanner's moon

but if I listen closely
I can still remember
innocents lost
as our eyes rolled
black and blue
in the exhaust of a truck stop
when we tried to hitch a ride home