Shorn, treaded red

^{after “Satellites 27” by Etel Adnan}

ochre starts
commence       catalyst and evensong enters
           
a flame lit arched and yearn
gleam, twofold

weary but not from this life
in time flame begets pools of
shorn Decembers
limber months evade us
            the flood
begets
burnished

catalyst and a hem
treaded red, quaked

slide gleam and slide trifold
            mirroring the fresh lake whirring
mirroring the whirring shorn wave

11 nocturnes
            you fibonacci
you catacomb