desert aspen
we seek the unseen threads
that tie our soul
to something more than this,
unbeknownst to bounds
with two feet on the ground,
behold our hands come undone,
craving intangible light
like a shotgun’s sheen
they drift through the in-between,
where white and black blur;
our grasp twists like rope,
and frays all the same
prophecies, devoid of any tame,
are fleeting in our
peripheral vision—
and a labyrinth of blinded eyes
we try to flay time’s guise
and resound it’s whispers;
we find no beauty in the struggle,
nor questions and silence entwined
but in our souls, eternally aligned.
spare beacon