VII

Faintly distant, these cold eyes growing in the sunset of the dawning midnight;
Changing colour hue shape form and spirit in chameleonesque fashions,
As sunlight bathes the figure in shadow and shade and starlight's sublime caress-
The garden, so grayed and vivid and wonderful in infinimatisimal ways in the singularity
As time flowed backwards ascending as holy water in the sands of the muster and trickery of the hourglasse's frames,
He let go of the framework, released the imagery fed to him by the societal hermit of love.
The days flowed mercurially around his visage like her cool breath between his lips.
And he was alive. Barely.