A little dawn rounds you hovering out of touch
Just so an almost reaches more matters & much
A tender all about trembling the more we hold,
The spirit of a god in you transparent as a gold,
Vast across running barefoot in a wind to snow,
The beauty in a knot is that we will never know
So let a nearness close the lips of dripping dew,
The less feet in a just about the more holy grew.
Nov 18, 2025
Nov 18, 2025 at 5:17 PM UTC
A little dawn rounds you hovering out of touch
Just so an almost reaches more matters & much
A tender all about trembling the more we hold,
The spirit of a god in you transparent as a gold,
Vast across running barefoot in a wind to snow,
The beauty in a knot is that we will never know
So let a nearness close the lips of dripping dew,
The less feet in a just about the more holy grew.
There are some words, moments, and thoughts that seem to stretch out the time it takes to realize that the best kind of beauty is ethereal, insubstantial, and diaphanous in its inability to cease the moment and capture the urn that yearns in us all.
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