The woods. Photo by the author.

Timeless timing timed to timelessness in due time

For the clock battery is dead

On arrival

So are we but only in words, these turns around corners of centuries like barbed wire tattoo and climbing wrought iron fence

To seek a liberation in spite of

The decayed concrete jungle left behind

Cannons sit idle, awaiting order

That natural wonder falling like dream state gone on high

To lift into feather lair and spare none the less, we fret and mess

With wild morning appearances

Forever deceiving like mirror mirage

Gone on sand print voyage

Disappearing in vents unseen

By the naked

Perception

Masked in paper mache totem pole

A role we are never ready for.