i collect myself again
the broken pieces scattered not so far as all that
i prepare myself to be amazed
the chaos in the smoke has a primordial pattern to it
though the signs are vague
the ink of our memories dry in strewn, uneven patches
in triplicate the prophecy
of the intricate spools unthread the lines of life
thinking much of nothing
let me not believe me forsaken if caught in the rain
worlds will to change
there is a perfect rose that dies shrouded in secret
heartbreak and confusion
breakthroughs come from strange ignitions of sense