Awakenings
The sky holds a smokelike hue / as the simmering substance of fire rises. / Fingers of light mold the clay of creation, / sculpt vagueness, uncloak ambiguities, / gathers the world to itself again.
The sky holds a smokelike hue / as the simmering substance of fire rises. / Fingers of light mold the clay of creation, / sculpt vagueness, uncloak ambiguities, / gathers the world to itself again.
Out in the countrythe stars speak to you.Sometimes their silver tongues singshimmering in vast choirsin cathedrals of night.Beneath their singing,two boys run over dark earth,racing, tumbling, laughing through the dusk,fast as a rabbit’s heart beating,its blood dancing, pulsing through veins… My twin brother ahead of me,breathing out brightnesswithin warm night windas we drift through soft…
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