the dusty repetitions dull and flashing
down, down the far descending paths
what became, what became of the
fiery gaze piercing through thickets
stifling, words shuffled upon hesitance
as the last foot falls echoed through
the quiet lands, where the grass
grew into golden straws and once
tranquil heavens now streaked like
a zebra's hide, wispy clouds flashing
of terrible lightening strikes as
fireflies rumbles across the morning skies,
bathed in  the slant of yellow light I step
far into the past where the hands were still
unspoiled and now I rejoice with the bluejays
and dashing salmons fighting a rigid tide,
don't, don't I know what may transpire to see
of the days which my breath can release
without the weight of a helpless fear to seize