Separation

There I cast an eye about the ground, our sweep of a founder. Stuff of me of you brought crumbling, dancing in the hands, stumbling our innocent beginnings. Hover soul about the faithful. Ice stretching over the land, over sight. How hap the spring, by fault or flight?

Brace the walls of your body, gate of sensation. “Mercy,” cries the moment’s wayside. Shod at last your walk is quickened blood and storm swept eyes. Prince of the moon, bide your time to the hangman. Fate is your irrelevance.

Tomorrow is measured out in seconds and hours. Gone how soon how beautiful. Your passage is etched on the air, fragrance and pulse and slow sound of tears. You are not far now, effulgent, looming grace on the horizon.