Breathing ornaments of time Through a dual chasm, They crystallize to glass in Thoughts, in hair.
Pale words hang for what this moment Is called Between a poor understanding of a Collection of signs and signifiers, Hoping to pin down Something reminiscent of loss.
Beading together worth and sweat, Fear trellises match and slide silent Darkened shirtfront and Tremor tree rings composed of Years shiver violet to my core.
If, past brown haloes Fastened to grey, there Had been an open door, I would have clutched the Door posts of the threshold Screamed red raw into the dark, Burning, celestial not-void Familiar, yet caught in glass.
No such thing as haste in the Pursuit of a shared dawn. Yet, hope no longer remains In spinning an unfolding Static lingers sullen in the smoke.