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Subtle
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Old A myriad of places, worlds...
They have
So many faces.
But sometimes such things, magnified
Cannot
Compare to traces
Of subtlety so picturesque
Inspired
By a breath.
Such magic only we create
From fragments
Of what's left.
A pleasure so devoid of acts
Shines beauty
All the same.
While singing moons create the shade
That put
Us in a frame.
Now I know just why I came.
Lay to rest these busy games.
Slip into my simple pain.
Douse me with your absent rain.
