The thing with waves.
When the night wind roars, and the moon rocks
The stormy cloud.
Lurking in the depths. Repeating its number,
Its identical sign.
Time passes; a crystallised prism.
Sunrays dance through stained glass shards---
The sands of time, glorified.
Stones that've touched time, in their refined matter.
An odour of age, of water, salt and dreams---
Lost, at sea.
I'm encircled by a single
Thing. A single movement, a mineral weight.
I work quietly, mulling over myself.
A wrinkle in time, a fleeting reverie.
I mediate, isolated in the spread of seasons. Centric,
Enveloped by a silent geometry.
A partial temperature
Drifts down from the sky. A distant empire
Of confused unities