Montage, Part One of Many

I stand Standing upon the emerald landscape posture stiff and still Eyes like black holes devouring the space around me Glass horse galloping, prisms exploding through the plainlands Time passes faster and faster the clouds cocoon and bloom into a wrinkled face, nearing a necessary wail I blink A cliffside abbey, tourmaline waves crash into the fissured face Hung to the horizon, dangling like a Christmas ornament above the sea A gaggle of nuns gather to practice their vespers clasping on their ash wood rosaries The atmosphere arranges in etudes as the cliffside ascends I fall Wading face up in a bog a common frog hops along my halo I saw a woman I once loved wrapped in the storm clouds, gliding There's a murmur in the shifting leaves above me, the purest peatland water slowly rises as though I’m an egg to be pickled Drowning in the songs of the ancient the spectral, the still unknown I sink Suspended in the cloudy drink a liquid haze a glowing quilt finds itself around my shoulder blades Where I imagine wings would be surgically stitched Adrift in the murky space, I am an audience to an Annunciation of marbled crawdads birthing clones of nature performing miracles Now I finally find a restful peace amongst the kaleidoscopic