A prairie warbler puffs up and pierces this summer scene’s bubble with a spiraling song that spreads an echo, a silent shine that darkens life’s light with cold.
Not winter cold, but silence cold freezes the wavering song of the warbler, and warmth’s tattered shine exits the pierces: holes torn in time as silence spreads inside love’s bubble.
Love’s bubble contracts to warm the cold, then exhales and spreads: encompassing warbler, ragged time, jagged pierces, and now silent, summer shine.
The soul/love/heart shine cannot expand its bubble forever, and falls prey to pierces; to the now cold song of a black-eyed warbler. Space shimmers, then spreads.
To the ends of nowhere it spreads, jetting shine like a tittering warbler sings of time’s bubble unknowing of the waiting cold, of timelessness and the truth that pierces.
Even stone sings of pierces, of boundless spreads and infinite cold, of extinguished shine, of a lonely bubble, and a black-eyed warbler.
Every scene is cold and pierces our summer song as time spreads our shine across the moment of this bubble.