Threads That Burn

Dawn breaks and gold threads out And...I run.. Like I could catch the... Falling..of the moon in my hands. Ancient Light. What shelter do you find in me? Hands pressed into indigo skies... Like a child waving, Goodbye. Now, this old temple turns into it's dawn greeting. The golden chords wrap tight and pulls at every silver string in me. The thought of giving a breath ...or taking a breath Holds me to an old silence. Such things! When I feel as though I could of caught her and held her forever in these hands. To think. The thought....of movement within loss.... Fosters threads that burn and bleed....brighter than gold or silver.