May your eternity become the window,
and the deftness of your human heart
be safely free to vary there
with compass to afford you grace.
Pagination once injurious should be contained
now with irrelevance of weather
and assumed names that invoke the decibels,
all summer auspices of made peace lingering.
A fortress from the quiet of the snow
may you have hundreds of light points
gathered that remain the crux
of your certain divinity.
You should be spared the sacrifice
of how your spirit ventures into
frontier capture with the simulated
chastity amounting to pure thought.
All daylight rests within
a chiseled winter, statuesque
that draws longing from each space
between contrasting glints of ice.
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:)
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