Aside a zinnia, near a garter snake, sat petals. I clump grass, kneel to pick a feather, time has wings—those salvaged years, to redeem by insistence, to settle into mestizo: darkened passion, the holy lands, a soul facing himself: demon auras, area sound, variant depressions. I take courage, adrift in volume, to hear silence echo. Another is wise, prudent, dark talents & excellence. I remain mortal, sold to it, alive in its debates, threshed as ultimate challenge. I need to believe in us, to believe in goodness, to witness balanced behaviors. I won’t drop names—many had it, most miserable in private, contributing to Zeitgeist. I sense details. I paint maps. Eager it seems to locate what’s inside. Many live silent lives, reduced to Condition, tending to existence.
