trace to the face
finger stroke place
back of the hand
in a trackless land...
the great impositor is here
sittin’ right in front of me
i just have to disintegrate
in order to see,
sit in the flames of invisibility
where a 100,000 dawns have broken,
not easy to perform this
hand clap paradox,
to conjure out of thin air
a new construction
in which to abide
for another 100,000 sunsets at least
- from Mixed Storm
