Of beige gaze.
Premonition in the river cast passing.
Would those trees looming
uncertain by gravity
fall on us?
The effort tried in setting
oar’s agility,
so as not to
Hit the sides,
For my own persistence
And calm,
willed mistakes is.

As.
Calm.
Demeanour.
Wills.
In steel.
As bliss.

Bliss such of slipping
out of boat’s grasp
to that of illusionary time,
Out of speech’s hold,
Tenfold,
From how summer moulds.

Head out,
it,
I will
to lying in river’s sole
fine line of freeze,
Who holds dear the mute,
those who feign not appurtenance
of this world,
As the sail companion’s
left to thinking.

Though oars may hit the shore
Lungs in silver lining stay aboard.
Face backwards.
And the bottom separating
River and Boat
will pretend its existence
No more.

I walk
and my laudability
can’t be taken
Off.

As a current like I
Runs air-tight bubbles.

/And the sounding:
SHeeSH | CLing |LiNK |
SHeer | CRinge | PLinTH |.

FLOW, mOUld me SOre/