In and through, over and over,
Grey lion chases fluffy lamb,
Or lamb runs after lion; the order does not matter
But for an elementary phrase.
The air is streaming. Moisture gathers
In all my cracks and crevices, while wind
Does its best to keep it back.
I am turning inside-out.
Innards gleaming on the outside;
Change is coming.
Marrow aches; my mind is racing.
Pressures rise and fall to
Fill the evening sky with light.
What is tomorrow but another changeling day?
When all the dust is turned to ribbons,
When I am saturated with the sounds of greening,
Then comes this along the skyline:
A fading line of blue and green.
In twilight creeps the heart of all the being,
Sight unseen, but not unheard.
Time will prick behind my eyes,
And my own sap will start to rise.