Breath is never baited, its sea has already parted. In its place a mountain stands, a man lain across its peak. There exposed, what bone may box a breast, O dear Mother-- never off kilter. Therefrom a thread so gold, marrow met skin, up and away... a steady pull by the tail end of an angel. Relative as the bent forefront of love's law, where all reunion leaves no remnant. To find a faith so becoming, space leaves room for space verging on itself. How blue the pearl, how circular the sky of its sea...how golden grows the thread that breaks with every breath.