So often it is dead.
Said God.
Of others, instead build buildings.
Mount up, ready, set for your favor.
Mounds on God's ground goaded
Hoards and hoards
about bounties.
Beautiful shapes soften lines on hoards and hoards of faces.
So instead.
Glisten along raceways, gilded in filigree fasteners.
Spreading, trace fingers, lips,
So, space is how our hour owes us