Dire-Verse Four, Dawn-

All essence is dust. Faintly forming through sun rays, filtered by hidden vibrations. Like vaporizing fog galloping the hills Rolling wind whistles tunes of Pan My ears are caught in a kaleidoscope. Trying to melt all as one, surrendering to abundance. And birds preform autopsies upon trees. Peeling off bask, playing acrobat upon branch after branch. Through an absence of sound I am waiting for the first human echo that wades this day awake