Small shavings appear,
rarest wood
splinters the air.
A misstep
bristles choler.
“Noticias malas” alarming
in the midst of my calm.
I am with tea,
balmy breeze,
beveled brain
and its fervor _
reassuring “la Luna”
in her fullest —
Her finest Hour.
11/16/2019
I am a clandestine shadow wondering if this is the best time to break through the shell and expose those inward calculations, theories, and resolutions. I am a carving or whittling of self out of earth and element.
I am an alien from another reality visiting a dying civilization, pondering a ray of hope.
