Sweet, Sweet Descendings

Sweet, Sweet Descendings The meandering river slinks silently In reluctant afterthought; A flat stone shines in the sun’s presence, Gripped for flight, flies forward; Water clouds dance in the rapids, Celebrated with flames, and The crying colors of terminations, With the motion and swiftness of forethought, Redacted and clothed in a mist; As spiral complacencies nudge me from behind, They seek to know my name. They seek to harness the ghost prayers of a thousand decades, As deities, in splendorous romancing, With lips pursed for the joining of sparks, Deliver the nudge and mouth the name, All in sweet whispering buds, As spreading flower petals lacerate the lacrimonious; Falling, descending, down, down- I see the green annihilations in the stars, As the heavens, wet with anticipation, In minds all enclosed in folds, The whimpering few cry at twilight, Trampling flowers and crusty coals. Sweet sweet descendings, Past the laughing ghosts of 1952, They slice as a cleaver finds the core, Divided, oh meandering slough, The dance alights on an afterthought, Redacted from behind, harnessed for years, Sweet buds in green summer heat, Petals and ghosts slice through, The harrowing stars.