It seems the most alone you can get
is the unquiet of new mornings
in seconds before sunrise, night still scorning.
Alienation's hour, in shadows, faceless forms adorning,
stirring for a place, lost, their wandering a warning;
for want of place before sun's sweltered summer furnace forging.
In sadness, dancing on fragile landscapes, wavering and warring
awake for decades just to see another daybreak distorting...
we can only sleep between sunlight, something affording.
We can only love so much as we allow ourselves to escape between avoiding
and yet again I am here, paralyzed in place, and poising;
vague shapes can never quite alleviate or rest, rewarding...