Sempiternal is what has befallen, thus be evermore begot: the elegy, the herring and the median of time’s lot. Horn precedes chalice, and cup endows the bowl; its swill upon the lip becalms the gradient of the soul. Beneath the simulacra, where If’s…thread unfurls, at the still point of endeavour, time’s blade the tendril curls. Were you not the grammar of its germ there to heed, the hand of substance, with yours fellow, yearns to stand in voice, in deed.
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