float down on me
one moment at a time.
so that no two moments
are alike.
this season has grown short,
and
miracles once expected
in abundance
are minimal in measure
Terra swells to recieve her
icy blessing and d'evils
d'escend
to d'issolve
all
d'esideratum
this season has grown so short
and I pay penance
while I wait for
midnight sun
to illuminate
my stigmata.
in the embrace of amity
she is still.
sated.
supplying serendipity
reclaiming
her marks
as my own
and this season, this season
has grown short.
so that providence promises nothing
save possibility
my soul survives in sackcloth sky
awaiting your touch
to ignite these darkest days
nocturnal sun
shines
only one
season
and this season,
has grown
short.
