pushing out the centric whole,
this vacuum pulls my soul inside;
stitching rags with threads of gold
laid over bones too old to hide;
inside myself this vessel holds
a sense of me i’ve not contrived
made into being by the hands
that work this living threaded bind

that ghostly hand binds ribs to lung
now thickening the air i breathe,
the specters have stirred up the dust
that clouds the halo over me.
a mist of dust from the chiseled stone,
or the rust of ancient foreign locks -
concealing rooms where all is filed;
time, reason, risk and cost.

the dust will settle, still until then
i’ve solder’d soul onto my skin
there are no shadows, we’ve bathed in light
new magnet pulls through, spectrum shift turns to white.
as howls ring out, carving through stormy dune,
the sun is eclipsed by the pivotal moon.