Earlier Sky

For season's solitude draws forth the root of bow,
each step is song, held
of morrow and calm.

This fed harp hollows the swell;
hands prone to possibility
limit passing and gesture.

The throat of whistle and roar pawns artifice
to settle stitch
for we are
to helm the failed particulars of hues unmet...
to render tally of tear.


© Christopher Brandon Lancaster