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.
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