15

If two halves split

Does their seem imprint

The folklore, the eye sore

Of a sinking ship

So the ocean churns in languor

Any might and feathered temptation to fall for

A blanketed cacoon

A root, a spoon

One bend in the turn, in the void, in glass

Field of ether, soma, manna to pass

Our time keyed to tune

Established woven loom

Wheels only turn in time’s womb