There was something rustling in the grass -
‘twas my mind condensed into a goblet of dew!
And how it did appear above the ragged hills
like a galaxy watching the liver green trees hide
their skeletons in the indigo -
Travel the night on the creeping chrome pebbles.
Travel the night on the slippery silk of sun light
as it inches ever closer to the morning and it whimpers,
he whimpers and wants just one more hour to perfect the black abyss of the ocean.
One more ripple,
one more ripple and the whole thing might come undone -
He trampled through the dewy leaves
(synapses fire, spinal fluids blaze)
as though the earth turned for the last time;
(the sun barrelled toward him)
for in him was the immediacy of every empty corner of the sea
(barrelling outward) -
He moved on, barefoot.