Fading Shallows

 Old Hymns rattle within rib cages that circle the pine, begging for breath.

Soft closures clean and smooth awoken in the spring time, awoken at noon.

Too late as the air fleets, time simmers on.

The faces we knew come into context as the former rotten bloom. 

Soured home memories that stand on the fence line day by day furthering in distance, and hovering in their swoon.

Cradling the legal expiration of a wanted Sunday school where the fishing lines we tripped ourselves on reflect in old familial tunes.

Contorting chasers of molten medicine, the angles cut hard lines out of faces not yet known to such eternal queries.

The lacerations come up for air as the thread whistles into the obscurity of mist, tree lines, and midday moons.

Digits revive in worship.

Callouses hydrated by time.

Traffic control air quality purified then.

Everything that happens is here, and from now on.