in solitude with the earth
standing among and in the thorns
hands do fill and they fist
everything spills the will to bring
it’s all mistaken in the heat
when all is cold and the empty is all
in solitude with the rest
sitting among the standing elms
do you see me?
or do you see something else?
i call to temples
and sing in my dreams
of a time when a god was very close to me
in solitude with you
i want to dance a verse
that only your soul can compose
but i suppose
you’re still lost among the thorns
and the empty
drowning in entropy
but in solitude i’ll say this
whatever love is made of
and however it is measured
it is not a basin that fills and empties
nor a prize
nor a treasure
Early Dew of Morning 