I.
Soon
others will stand
where you now stand
before Coy pond in ice
and sunrise.
She is a Titan to time
that always paints
wrinkles
invisible
on young, ripe cheeks.
Her frozen trance,
a habit that outlasts
the bursts of youth
(those green
aurora beams).
Sharp white spirals
leave your lungs
greedily swallowed
by the wind.
Four years.
II.
Stand
weak and rejoice
in your melting dough
skin,
snappy coral bones,
a heart’s dependent pumping,
dance your day of chalk
on the sidewalk
erased by sudden rain.
Out of time
claim your lovely (in)finite
ending,
No worthy significance proves
His Love
that much more
matchless,
kneading the Image
into us,
making meaning
out of dust.
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