I write the line
And a veil drops.
A sea cloud lifting
The unfolded nature
Of limitless breath
Towards the liquid realm
of tumeric salt drawn
from tree stumps
bursting through skin.
I write the line
And a veil drops.
Steady earth holding
Hidden glass panes of
Flat sand rising west —
Three marks down
A spindled staircase
Descending into a
Chalised river marsh.
I write the line
And a veil drops.
Sapphire disks of
Laughing solemn reflections —
Like unstitched quilted
Wounds of sanctified
Prayer counted and spoken
Along the wood grain of
Guarded school chairs.
I write the line
And a veil drops.
Forested mist drifting
Among the gate keepers —
Bordering shadowed light
Reaching through moist green
Lips parting effortlessly
Within an allowance
Of perfect thought.
I write the line
And a veil drops.
Lying backwards on
A gilded slope —
Falling from forms past
And equations distant
Into a crimson pool of
Boundless and unbridled
Corinthian melody.
I write the line
And a veil drops.
Windless desert stretches.
White capped entropic islands.
Chaotic ruminations.
The great mountain encircled.
Sun starved Demons.
Incoherent vibrations from
Screaming inkwells until —
I write the line
And a veil drops.
Entering the room
Of seven words once
Told and spirited away —
Kept within and waiting
For the One veil after
The One line that hides
From the last barrier.
Words submitted by Terrance Grace
