Feet run until the day they abandon
life n’ become cold, our well will not

still,
tell me
again n’
again—I’ll
listen— time
is repetition, it’s
in this system, our
hearts add rhythm,
a lighthouse glistens,
pulses penetrate time’s
immense distance. Is this
prison? Repetition permeates,
creates fate and truth and it does
not contemplate or plan, it just
expands and makes our lands
look like specks, so special
though, the universal
spectrum, freedom,
suns and suns of
contradictions
that thrum side
by side with the
silent strings of
illusion, lasting as
a laughing eyelash
that drops like waves
crash. Drops, like lifting
sand into shifting wind, both
sifting through the human hand.