Ingots of light bled to the radiant succession, a returning forest, the brisk chatter of day. Those a chime to where they stave their intrepid free, bringing them nestled warmth awash to skate like the falling shadow.

Crayon dipped the park in bounty, should they remember you as I once felt to last the, top score shadow marker, one least, more them notes rewrote.

Twice inaction cost you a place to have the rounding lines, to enlighten the escarpments with shallow breath, placing the wish never too have in wish; as once more descended the night, enclaves a catch of them with silver screen, indelible light, to unearth a barely credulous age.

My memory inclining to have the moon remaster those days in gold inscription, those irresistible, missing ambrosia, breathless words to a composure indefinite, deeply hollow, hungry an falling from the scene.

2021 Adam Blewett ©