Field

Arms in gentle lock,
floating like dusty chalk

Viewed for quite some time,
amazed by beauty, true to survive.

Lost in a maze of feeble hope,
solid like one ariel rope

The matter is nothing,
not a confusion or thought of running.

Smiles like two lowered faces,
resting like chairs under vases

Whispering hidden answers into the clone
touch of the skin, right to the bone.

The sky stares as the brush trinkles through,
caught on a knot, to engage the view.

Sailing like the star headed eyes,
passage in gentle lock, then swiftly alligned.