When it it wanted to be remembered it came in streams and fell in lines that swirled around us so we could pluck one word and chew on it, put it back and taste another. Follow one some way, skip between others and dance in syncopated, flip-flop rhythm between feeling thoughts and sinking feelings.

We could – just by looking – delight ourselves for days or more. Pick princely gems or suffer wounds because they only help us grow. You and I, my dear, winging in thrones and cased in rafters, tumbled in spider-webs and then clean again. Washed of reason and sense of being.

Tumbled in rapture and cast in spells; we allowed the words to come; syllable by fleeting syllable:

Dark dawns

Represses facet that is not felt or said

But is expressed as release

Two poles of a sphere come together

Itself to disappear

This is the learning and the learned

The fighting and the sky

The love in a terrible beauty

The asking to be free

So pure. So meaningless. So captive and liberated.

~ o ~

How futile is life?

How fragile.

How valuable.