Hope
Twisted into shape you are a mute
whirlwind of form drinking from the sun,
still equinox you are no longer longer,
all things being equal.
Eyes inward you are unable to inspect
your irresistible fractal curls,
the mesmeric mercuric minutae that
draw me, eyes inward.
That you are that you are is
testimony and testament, the
unfurling world in jasper and gold:
the prologue and the plot running
through it.
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