i am not allowed to absent my mind
from these certain things
that to everything there is a season
and time for every purpose under the sun

each of those verses resonant in turn
unmoved
i am the vessel into which each of these drops
marking what
the collection of things that come to pass
in enough time

perhaps i shall accrue the equanimity
in enough time

but for now each of these minutes
fill with your ebbing
i cannot scale them to impassive eons

i must ask you then to be on purpose

these days i am full of prayer and haunting. i am a sitter in an evening full of shadows deep and quickened by candle light. how it is that the circle is drawn with the dancing edge of flickering and they are lively at bay as whispers. approaching receding. these days i am full of prayer and haunting.

the way that
figments are snide in their obtuse predation
this only light enough to make shadows disappears me in melting segments
in light in dark in light in dark
with its sputtering dance

nothing is full, only foreboding