leaping hearts still like the break of day;
ne’er ceasing shine of ichor spilt again
upon the dewy purple skies above.
it flashes quickly, burns with fiery tongues.

the caustic fluid formed an orb of gold,
an ever-watchful eye upon the time.
they scorched the earth and called it holy day:
it dripped with warming wine to slow the mind.

(October 1999)

§560 · October 17, 2005 · Tags: ·

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