The evanescent clouds glide by
as dusk opens the vast starry heavens
to exposure, a rubric to a forever manuscript
dancing to an unheard melody.

The ticking of time is but an artifice
man created. No one alive will see it
cease as transmogrifying transition
envelopes the seer. The birds fall slowly

hypnotized by the tiny prey the breeze
in tall grass reveals. Pray that the harmony
once here returns with or without us.
Look at all there is to do, and begin.