Curious constant scent
beneath the language of the street
this black whip sliced in half
unable to strike you.

Rain dressed
chains bleed silver.

I run a crescent maze of moon shine. Every direction, shadows,
and soft rooms of purest violet.

I stop to be reclaimed.

The branch staring at another angle
dripping grace onto shadow.


The closer you delve into belief
the louder the wind storm
speaks moving an entire desert.

I am rising on your voice.
Take me.