Antiquity was waiting to breathe
And awaiting the moisture of lungs.

A hole, eyeball wide, offered just a peek;
Along with an ancient mote,
Which flew from eternity into sight.
Remarkable things were seen!

In the heat the buzz was slight.  
As was the bite.  But, ultimately,
The fevers started burning in the night
(For after all, the cobra had eaten the yellow canary).

How your coverings and remains sparkled like the sun!
Thousands of years of hiding suddenly undone.  

But, we all rot together, eventually eaten.

Giving up isn’t as hard as you’d think
Because I’ve given up thinking as well.

autumn melts the skies
her oranges like
bright rouge,
her yellows a
half hidden sun.

the fires of a waking
world, blown by
the branches of the
wind,

forgotten, an
ending sweeter
than the last
fragments of day
that dream as they
fall, caught by the
torn breezes that
scatter the leaves
westward and skyward
like little ribbons hurrying
along a once summer path.