Expectation requests a location, a center among these swoops and swirls, but the more I seek an edge or angle, the more the self begins to dangle and truth untangle the anchors of this scheming, the suggestions of dreaming, and figments of meaning.
Between the losing and the loving, between the beat and the rest, the heart is a clear glass chest opening at sun’s set releasing its warmth, yet in deepest night sky met, measured, and set.
Here, our flourishes find frozen rest, the print of our heart’s love manifest by the happy artist behind us all fixed in the gravity of a nameless Call.