Transpire to the gate
of prior remembrance ,
in the tranquil voice
of prolinged breeze.
Descent to fondle the
pinkies of the needle ,
that luna the estuary ,
the rends obscurity ,
time drops to the mite ,
of dew in that sunrise .
Petals of frangipani
unfold at your fondle .
Buds fall , sleet falls
shade of your eyelids .
Forge in the sun , mazed
evening , at noon , at end ;
the stars caper , where
the cael in a far space .
Time plunged in a game
of ruination or forge .
Be bourgeoned , you are
the conscience of the
obsessive vine throns ,...