Travelling starts after we arrive as we rundrivewaitflyrunwaitflyride. My body arrives where east is west and day is night and the hands of time spill sand s l o pp il y like a drunken clock. Sleepwalking through a noon sunset, I await my soul — sailing across the strolling sea sipping his tea — in no hurry to rejoin with me.
So perfect in it's capture of the moving, and the catching up, in its own time. Love your use of word art, too, to add to the speed and slowness.
Instantly evoked Rod Stewart’s Sailing