Return to the passions of sea that shape your soul / Drink from the plentiful water there and even drown and lose yourself if you need to / Leave some strength to swim back to shore where wild water passions find direction in river banks / Stand on land that holds strong and firm without moving in the short term unless you really dig your shovel in to separate the form it clings to

Where water takes only the small sleight of hand to empty a glass and have it all splash or spill out / Let the water hydrate your soil and birth your plans without drowning all life there / Passions of water that know no limits in nature, but in human form can only excite so much before we remember there is a code to survival

We can dance in the waves and swim out but only so far, not beyond a possible swim back to shore / And not so deep, longer than the rope that tethers us to the surface

We are amphibious creatures of both passionate waters and structured lands / Completely without one or the other, we would die

Passions of a dream, a dance, a night love in the dark—are beyond our defining / (illegible) that move and inspire action it has nothing to do with what we see cosmetically everyday—the buildings erected, cars driving, people going to work

—man living and doing what he needs to survive. None of this would exists without the dance in the dirt that we came from and the desires for more than just to go on surviving but to live in the moment in passions of ecstasy

—these are the short ephemeral moments that cause us to go on living and also to give our children the opportunity to do so; otherwise what would be the point?