Morning’s sun, subtly dulled. So perfect does enact such shattered souls. The mist - delicate,

Day after the longest, lounging to sounds; traffic drone, plucks from strings swelling in the whispering

Amidst the woody opalescence; clammy, creeping undergrowth, and stooping heavy boughs, they wait. A gradually growing blanket

Swirling sage spheres dissolve the… Perfect, air-filled pockets, rolling, surging, bursting. Tawny slinks play; tumbling over,

Glazed veils, overflow; crack, with surging chills. Briny despair, on the verge of eruption,

Poised to pounce, behind a filmy glaze, a blackness, filled with everything, and nothing.

Sundown upon me, meandering amongst them; enchanted, midst the dimness, inveigled by their mighty sway. Whirring winds

Behind a blinking twinkle, difference disappears, swirling midst an onyx cave, masked, like moon from sun.

Tempered breaths, lids sink, sealed, Solid spine, grounded deep. Hubbub hushed,

Static. White noise. Deafening silence, overflows; trickling webs

Subdued and moonless, breaks the dawn, delivering the year; boisterous gloom, percussing panes,