214.

Blinded in viewing,
seen like a lonely man walk-
-ing backwards with clocks

drawn on his face, that
canvassed my heart. But what was
missed time's shadow.

213.

Softly stroking the
underside of intentions
until focus met

your feature, shining
like stars against the tar black
surface of this dank,

obsidian piece
of diseased history, and
I was diverted.

212.

It slunk along the
glass with tentacles and grasped
care like a small leech.

211.

Toward its belly,
meaning spilled out like a song,
dripped in sludgy oil.

210.

Coming up from the
depths of a soul, shaking me
in hypnotized steps.

209.

Characterized by
the dulcet waiting, a hymn,
reverberating.

208.

Where this framework of
inching events began to
again feel like love.