Shallow drags
summon the fate of one more fag.
Sulfur scented lightning flash
queues
the unmet tolerance of oxygen sacks.
We lack a name for a famed feeling
whose greeting startles us back.
It pauses, healing,
mulling over it’s epitaph.
Genesis.
Humble reincarnate,
under unfolding guise and without name.
Your Gemini guide the flame
further.
Mind the unknown futures.
Stay.
Stray
to the foxhole known so well,
or say and revel in the
drought
now flooded out and in by a new wave.
Whether we chase the tide
knowingly
or let it carry us away is no matter.
Growth will not become
stones
staring dolefully
from the shore.
