On that path,
removing watchful faces
from streaked sidelines.
On this stretch,
leaves are decorating
where progress
becomes cleared stains,
on a revealing road.
Landing down, a downpour
clears what stills itself,
to remain in this
heated outpouring
of crude honesty.
Running down, from eyes,
carving rivers on a formless shore,
tides are flowing through
a sickness that needs its saving,
from that eternal craving.
Healing begins at a wound
on that bewildering path,
becoming a collision
between fire and a desire,
coming from an entrance
apart from certainty’s distance.
Modern Romanticism 
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