into
silence of the day—the function—the grievance; dispersed but whole, an inward
compartment, to celebrate the living. sacred sadness—I know it’s expedient—absence
makes it unbelievable. between uncertainties, fashioned by lurid skies, light
has heaviness. I hear a hymn far away. I trek a valley in my soul. many are
meditating for The Great Pearl. a blessing to all souls. a tress for a young
infant. miracles are made tangible: teal sunshine, perfect sequences, mirages
made of clarity. the silence of the day—the function—the grievance; reading
lithic scripts, treading outer regions, sailing through feelings. I felt
absorbed, preoccupied, split, I felt the splice—deep movement, wilder
properties, something many take for granted. ether portals, surrounded by life,
a little weary with time—one major blur, debated in souls, observed in spirits.
I see collars. I see centerpieces. I see trenches, caves, ponds, even geese. I see
an elderly man, with a bag of popcorn, feeding myriad birds. a humble man, an
easy man, moving gently. the silence of the skies, the absence of the soul, the
many in limbo. with motion in mind, with cold weather, with certain prayers.
