written for
for it is
the movement of time
the stumble of planets
olympian cold
seasons gone
for the blowing wind
the chasing wind
the edge of knife
cold against the skin
this is utterance
this is the cosmic dance
where time is left
in ruts and ways
the slipped foot trips
and sprawling plays
to lighter fare to other ways
the for past passed
past the gaze
just a winding dune
dusty then
dune has become alps
in surmounted
the tracking tread
busted drive
left blips and trace
respondent to cursory flags
rewriting the core
rerouting paths
to get moving again
out of the mire
of endless dust

very nice

curious that you wrote
only once with ink
now every word
flows
imbued
drenched in the sweetness
alluring and rich
nourishing
though plentiful
eternity