I relax, deep into the smoke,
Into the mirrors of this place.
Sinking backward into my arms,
Into the wood, into the air.
Falling. Into my broken bones.

Melting into your arms, my arms.
Falling into the mess of broken limbs,
Fainting into you, into me.
Failing to feel flustered, composed, together, me.
Feeling me, you, I sing songs of birds in circled flight.
Flying into wood, and air.
Into the mirror of the sky.
Sink, and swim.

Drowning in tides of mist,
Hands grasping, reaching from the hull,
We are ever pulled but, we are flowing.
Just ringing and sauntering.
Spinning, falling.
Woven into the strands of hair,
That dance with us in this tattered rag.

Here, we falter.
Preserving what sings beneath
Boats, and tides of mist.
Falls into our broken arms,
Reflection of a shattered mirror.
The painting, of a world in flames.
Ever deeper.
Into sleep.