What is this rumble from within time’s cruelly encompassed horizon?
Appearing as a solitary dusk from both sides of the infinite.
I’m forced to calculate occurrence from various positions enmeshed below the neglected substructures
Confusingly left behind, yet still far in front of the departed
Departed, yet left behind ahead of who abandoned
Every instance of shedding provides for lesser moments of clinging
Every moment of clinging aids in cleansing an infant’s skin
The stones of existence are cast alongside the path of cards to conjure moving lines
Then the witches of the world view leaves of boiled herbs to translate hidden signs
What is this rumble from beneath these moist layers of black soil?
All of those collected graves giving pulse to that which can’t take form
Collected births causing joy through loneliness and angst inside a detached and excluded loving soul
The tempo drops, we play way on top of the beat of healing conscience
Drop the beat down in the groove of the day to look aside without a turn of head
Every moment of digging brings promise of a fuller emptiness
Empty, but now a whole and willingly conscious tool