Fragment of a Celebration at the Banquet of Morning

The diagenesis conversations
And the moderate gale sigh
The insinuations are the bureau of our lives

A stencil watercourse
An elaborate Emily Frost
headhunter for book markers
to reinterpret what we lost

Like a song stolen and pale
seized by our indifference
when the morning starts its sail

The figures of coherent time are mourning still