there is
trial
in preparation
singing to every new
day,
following rise and fall in
onesweepingmotion. our
breath is
empty with dust
spinning in
ninetydegree an
gles
just to learn about the concept of
death. we are
surrounded by
words;
groups of letters
playing,
mourning,
writhing together
in an expansive sea of sun.
we breathe
beauty.
wrapped in a
cloak of
dust,
the day continues
to move.