with starkly looming, lanky limbs
angled sharply across the horizon
flocks of crows call out to him.
just the presence pulls your eyes in,
only by a frail glimpse
of prisms, caught in periphery. 

and he contorts death,
by way of shadow and mystery,
he says
"only in darkness can the light be broken down so deeply."

sharply he carves through each moment,
the presence of time so close he can hold it
and with nothing to show for it,
the weight of all is suspended,
as only he can lift it