I recall glimpses from a far shore, leaves flailing from their berths, up and away, beyond comprehension,
And the molten earth I offer to the cup will complete the banishments in its liquid umbers, the day stands in the doorway, feet planted, demanding I cross the thresholds of concerns,
As I age, there are less hours to mold, clay in my joints stiffens, I rise and the house rouses slowly from slumber, so that afternoon pours its coat over the walls of baking bread, before I have settled into the idea of morning, it is gone, like the birds your laughter threw into an ecstasy of flight,
The day pulls closed the hinged lid over itself, lowers into the earth, and night stays longer, than in my youth, hourglass turning, and I am a grain flailing at its slender abdomen,
To darkness, then, to find you again, to see what avatars await, chimera roots digging their mandibles through my sleep