Morning bleeds out…a stain of birth upon magnolia flesh…sweet breath and iron hint…the fourth has been an enigma of desires…what was once abandoned and withered, positioned for battle…has softened…boughs of golden spindles, form fingers in graze of sky and earth…fleeting in allowance…stars are given leave of the distance, to hover at eye level…soft in the seconds they awe…the robins weave early tales of grass and vine, the crows thread sigil trails in midday journey…light and shadow slant and divide the growth of time…where willow lashes of green in new, cascade in bioluminescence against azure falls of night…I’m awakened…the moon and a god at either side…an intricate rhythm…of soul in lean to the pleasure…

E.A. O'Connell