It flows in her
(the sacral that drifts)
as mystery upon her palms unfurls.
Aeons of current, unbroken,
moving no time
and through space unabating.
‘Unease, I feel you.’
To see by the thread
that life on her bequests,
standing alone in the boundless, consumed;
scared by the depth unexplored
and sacred in vastness released.
Notes From Afar 