Days are filled & empty, facing fullness,
overbearing pash. Waiting too long. Too cautious. Maybe defeating dreams.
Professional
observer, interior typist, metaphysical disappearance.
In
seeing you, suffering distance, it was never about getting close, more in engraving
a chasm.
I was judged. I never spoke. It was seen. It was
written. It follows.
Upon a sparrow, into winds, soaring higher, chased by
an eagle, watched by a peregrine;
Softer thoughts at moments,
At
segments, it was those days, losing certainty, debating substance, rethinking
evidence; days fully empty.
In an
instance, rejuvenated, upon a glimpse, to surmise, more rain, more pash.
Listening to religiosity, found in countenance, a type
of creature, thriving for excellence, confronted at steps.
