When the sky, for brief moments, stops.
Leaves no longer rustle as, briefly
Everything ceases. Drops
Of molten reality, unceasingly serene,
Drip, in shimmering uncertainty,
Sluggishly down like some surreal stream.
He drinks in that empty moment.
Savouring it as some trans-
Ient truth he knows must melt. Penitent
Yet, despite the gloating ignorance
Of the Hollow Ones, with their tidy, superfluous
Charm. That icicle spear glance
Shatters the moon-pool calm,
Like dreams twisting the empty ill-
Usions of a drenched emerald balm.
Now, creaking Time, casually recommence
In your random, untidy precision, kill-
Ing with every division all sense.