I stretched light
into knife
to cut the cloud
one strong drop
of eternity
ensued.

What hand
faster than sun
to slice illumination
into tool
and then apparently
disassemble time.

Answers
like feathers
suspended in that dream
after pillows exploded
and silence so hypnotic
it resembles symphony,
the feathers and your eyes
vibrating like strings.

Then back just minutes
before the tree
enters the sky
with dark veins
into the night’s
quiet body.

That was suggested
by mind
whose story is pinched
from the perfume
illusion prepares
from time.

Was the world
a seat
old me
weaving yarn
after yarn
light, sea, dome, thorn
bit by bit
thing after thing
into a language
of surface

once
spoken
the saga of silence
returns
deepening as strata
to cover
the hills of the toes

and the eyes
those shores
curling back
to their source.