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)