Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Soul-spinningSilhouette,the orb-weaver,severing the string,spins itself anotherstar Soul-catcher,tracking over thebones of summeratop the mountainclose to you,may too seethe hand ofGod,turned upward,at the corner of Autumn,along the edge of your smile,close to me,breathlessly

Tapir-beaked masters,white toothed,in the tower,above our shoulders,hold tight our strings, brother,like me,your anger too,ebbs with the moon,our life, spent on the line,once again,cast before swine,irreverently, One day,soon,even our sorrowwill have its due,and resentment,festering in the hollow,before the soul,consumes the remedy,consumes the world

Sequin-ring,dancing,the erstwhile tapir-beakedsmile upon your backstumbled outof adolescenceand into exile,before Corinth,in the quiet,before the dawn Meridian,listing,shaved away the burlapedges of shame,between gasping breaths,through theaxiomatic peaks and valleysof irony,wrung out,before Corinth,in the quietbefore the dawn

Sunflowerin the wind,the penitent soulbefore Babel,cast its voicebefore the breathof all things you,aphonic,your worksstripped bare,saw your nature reflectedin the well He,having spoke the firstverse, understandsbetter than youthe value ofa word,offered up,faithfully

Sickle-stepdeafened,crawling upward,through the dusk-shoals,beyond the sable stair,again to the foot of light you,seeking somethinggreater than yourself,lay out your idealupon the alter, perhapsin timeyou too may hear thevoice of God