You are e’en clearer; by more stars alight.
A rhythm-only song composer who’d not cottoned on.
How distantly it spans.
Riven rope about a ring of jeweled thorns.
The Lord, to me (supposedly).
From long, song-saturated maturating messages, vestiges (best out-lived) of another.
Erstwhile, the context: don’t kid us, it matters.
I will have missed it.
Too tailored; too soon.
Even as (ephemeral) the winter’s apogee takes Easter on and, late, chase they the heels of Autumn.
Onto prophets by the fire and the knowledge gleaned from that.