Shadows composed of dry oil and
black dust, leaving their tracings past
my destinations in graphite patterns,
propounded significantly eventful;
in the board vigil at high noon.
And the loss of those particled fibers
that acquiesce in the sift of air.
...If one could find the mind for a significance,
the matter could be sparkled as glacier rain
hidden beneath the snow from the arctic sun
and aflow to one of the seven myth filled oceans.
Then label me with a hat, ‘an explorer’.
That could be as exciting as any
of the dreams sauntering past midnight.
Although perhaps this is something more
from the morning and slips too clear for mirth;
the catalyst of frustration further back
than yesterday and long since
accommodating to house arrest.
Not to say the painting of the symphony
still can't find a design from Black Spleenwort.
Though, the trees certainly are not shotgun
barrels. The pervasive does have a way
of threatening with the completion of aspects
where the radial unknown colludes behind
the momentary lambent. The flit played
upon scales so exquisitely, we are taught
to the nuances of what we find
in the range of our vision, and trust
the whole of susceptibility, including
the minor signifier of a maleficence
on the border of the unvivid,
marked by falling hesitation...
A cairn was made from impacts of silence,
after so quickly, his landscape permanently,
unalterably censured and condemned.
The route well traveled cratered
with the steepest unmeasurable depth, entirely
stagnate. The shuttering of the rocks on it's shore
signify the strength of all the abiding years.