She walked away through
the hills of clay
while I stood in dismay and cold wonder
The dew was a treaty
in the moment, so fleeting
and the sobs were snored and bleated
She was a soul with
a palm on the world
and a rhythm matched only by fire
In a staunch morning breeze
I fell to my knees
and triggered a twofold, wet coda.
Vast Imbecility 