A crimson cast falls softly onto the hard floor
The noise of his outer shell but whispers in its passing
In halls of embered light
Motion and distance are silent to him
Warmth is not the pulsing from the heart
It is the wave of his being that surges in its place
Delicate sight traces forms about him
Communing language with its touches
Finding he is one and all In the waving of the words
I can sense him
for he is I in me
and I he in him
mF
No comments:
Post a Comment