The clock slows, to the drip of a tap.
The room swoons on my behalf.
The placements of this world stand still,
As if raised high on plinths.
Shaped proud and statuesque.
I look for the spaces inbetween,
Find the image bordered
By the edges of the world.

See that glowing face
Pressed against the arc of this tree.
Pleading to the world,
"See the ghost of my form,
Look upon my condition,
Lest the light fails!"
See the teeth of that mouth,
Against the black heart of the city.
A maw, threatening to consume.

Keep aware of the periphery.
Take in cycles of old tales,
They cry of allies and adjacents,
All of which lay at your side.
Think not of what lay in front,
Yet that which slinks below,
Surges within,
Emits without and
Wheels above.

Seek what is not,
Find the canopy's face,
That teases us in profile
For it stares full within,
And throughout this negative space.