Of Words and Other Dilemmas

I stood plain, volatile and invisible.

Dead in motion, free in the depth of her spoken silence,

for the land is quiet and infinite when the moon rises

and so nothing is ever full of tone; full of meaning.

She conquered it all in inquisitional whispers, 

she hid, patiently, protected in crenelations,

protected in words, sheltered in their empty aegis,

shielded in their capacity for exploration.

Hereon, the cannons of self-indulgence

foray upon all that it is mistaken, all that is expressed,

so expressed through dusty bifurcations,

and so expressed in the cadence of an insipid sound.

She conceived a definition for the undefined

and the true miracle deteriorated,

the bliss faded away, sheer beauty was now shattered;

your eyes were now mere logic.

Therefore the paper doves flutter at a distance,

a dispute of tone in the garden of light.

The death and resurrection of perception

upon the imminent conquest of the night.

The moment is defined in grains of solitude,

the moment is what it shall be

and what it shall be only; 

an enfilade of fortuitous details, a cluster of dreams.

I seal the light and finally, in cold illusions, I imagine my own night. 

We see them kiss in subtleties,

through windows they interact, for the moment

will long what is necessary, in deaf request and imminent charge.