Under the Volcano Part 2 of 2

Buoys ring out the calling on the mist Any place is a better place than this A song from the distant desert comes Reminiscent of a kiss at Christmas On a warm breeze tempered by the sea Pouring out its soul like rain Over the lost landscapes scenery Waves lick the shore for salt and flavor To be remembered then forgotten What is it to be surmised by burning lava Flowing over rocky aging miles Back to the sea and under waves The purity wheat domain grows thin Sways like yellow hair between the cracks Meandering overtime on gentle winds to finally rest Under hills to escape the landscapes sole intent Weighs heavy on the back of nature happening Against the ground when sun settles down Down rugged paths etched out by time itself Perhaps poppies are in bloom Over smooth surfaces of illusion Illusions postulated late at night As to their authenticity Validated by the light of day Morning comes to measure all Dawn covers mountains first Lightning strikes.... hits... then gone Covers what is left when rolling on  Smooth as glass down a humble path What Is left to postulate on beauty   As to what measures hills at peace Hills line up, stacked on the ruined miles Remain still after earthquakes come Waiting on the morning shores in silence Never done, never begun