In my contemplation of tension the gentle breeze belies the turning of the Earth; the Moon of your eyes searching the next horizon, unsteady like the winding passage of the days, the hours, the millennia back and forth through which the spirits we conjure and dream of make their journey by monuments natural and constructed seeking, seeking the answers but revealing more questions ordinary and extraordinary disputable and indisputable casting down ambition under leaves, snow and expectations drifting becoming dark with time as all fades and is swept and remembered less while the Sun turns hiding behind the next cloud.
