The wind stands fair,
The woods are still.
Not a crease in space,
Not a ruffle in time.
A strange stillness,
A bellowing quiet.
A hollowed out corner
In the face of the universe.
Oh, my love
We are here.
And we are running.
To where?
We challenge the odds.
There is always a choice
And there is always a chance
We must make it;
We must take it.
We are at a standstill
At the brink of morrow.
We are possibilities.