Crescent Moon arching;
pacing a summers night sky lullaby,
gathering distant sunbeams.
...
My will
I am
Am I what will?
Incur as, so endure
...
Row to me, my only jewel, Ive yet to receive
There upon a time,
Time longing to feel the reminding sound of breeze brushed sweetgrass in moon shaded fields, or pristine sparkling from the nights distant stars
...
on the crocodile of the moons last river
his teeaars reflects the stars light last bit of ember
...
Through such dark thoughts
I wonder on through the night
Arms stretched out forwardly towards what sickness I see in the World before me
My joy has no consequence besides its ending
...
Once again there in the forest
Tree tops brush against each other
Swaying
Dropping pine-cones and frayed branch tips
...
Across the field as far as I can see
There is nothing
Except all I can imagine
...
Mark my words;
a picture will last.
Occurring now
...