So let it be
These rewirings are kindling
for feet of fire
restless in a standing
that roots the sky
No more parks of resilience
they wane with the sun
and come over again
like a child friend
who grew tired of the game.
When the fly comes round
continuity submits
to the traceless pause.
See, it is already gone.
A celebration of change
gives way
with a melting of tree lines
into an embankment
of horizons commingling.
They lost out to space.
Curses complete themselves
in that whisper
tasting of my neighbor’s
wisp of smoke.
It will come out tomorrow
in a slow outpouring strand.
The magician pulls and pulls,
suggesting an end.
A limit to less.
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