Like a swarm of seers. Seeing, learning.
Leaning, dreaming. Working. Like a cloud
or summers, long and lasting. Washing,
drinking. Fasting. A terrible collision,
slowed, down, all the way into music.
It resembles this life of mine. Flying
apart, so emphatically, striving to
concretize. To fetishize. To preserve.
One storm against the flying lights,
one whisper true held deep in darkest
silence, held close and innocently dear.
Like a shape in water, flowing, or the
light in living eyes that knows its knowing.