This web of Easter fractions, My desperate suspicions, Feverish dancing phantoms in the fields of agelessness, (In the vacuum of cold pressed obliterations,) This thicket of unformed words, Informed by celestial spore tracers, Markers of the quiet alarm, I’m purified in all a test, Towards the truth meter, (Rules,) The edges of café windows, In hanging gardens, Bright with promise, I meet my saviour again, (Pick and fly,) In golden aerial rooms, I’m reborn the snake waiting in the sirens pool, The bait, the tension, the flight capsule, the ambitious miracle, Tempered by a silhouette exposure, On the wrong side of the cave wall, Looking for the direction that narrow band of a smile points towards, In the dilation of the dust blown catastrophe, My eyes resurfaced, I lost my protection, (My favourite lie,) Prophesy blues, The radiance of a distant star, Someone on the edge of liminal heat, Far down the street, She hides her feet, She sleeps in the birthday cake, Her wishes still get to me, In empty pools, In love with nights final curtain, Swallowed by all the names of the lost, Destabilizing premonitions, Reassemble themselves on the other side of the sky, In the hands with little white gloves, My eyes will never forget, how those anatomies work, Someone of softer exposure, Can get through the garden wall, Deep melting never spread so far, Through the boundless pool, Their estimations ripple, Two layers I must touch, One of surfaces, one of between, A secret isle, Signature birds, My eyes restored, Seeing out through the eyes of those I love,