Scent of Bind

Scent of Bind Stepping my foot out I ground Spoken is the Voice of the world Above and below it conveys its reason. I fold as I have always done I winter away my seasonal query I begin with the words that meet me. I am whole in the way of my thought. Even though the perspective shakes me I stop to the weed and bend to it's scent. I embody the scent of the bind I rotate to its root and realize there is none Only it's binding precision remains. I strike the score and unmark the word. I am spoken for in each breath I take The tolerance shifts its face and I see what is. The economy of this time is direct to the code The memory shuffles all the codes The exact rhythm is met with Grace. I know what I embody even in the confusion I know what I am in intending precision The folding matter moves into the light.