Only remembrances hence shall hold
to disclose all organs' rhythm.Still your shape to gentle neglected palms
as hawsered touch refigures notch.
This mounted dream hushes the haul
of seek, of anonymity.
O augur, the arched strides of your terraced repetons...
Forth from the vaulted gestures,
time is your scape;
You are that necessary bend of eternity that beckons
you are the hands
you are a place.
© Christopher Brandon Lancaster
