This body therein rests solemn – a creation.
And creation itself an instrument
Madly oscillating as sensation
Gently swaying – a vibration
And herein rests my flesh enchanted,
Not sanctioned by the crows of a vengeful spirit pooling
In the depths
Not tainted by the woes of a fragment left behind.
Herein rests my flesh encumbered,
By frameworks of structures wide and wise
An herein rests my pulse,
Beating with the tide
There gated and blooming with the flowing of the Nile.
Therein we see the serpent by flowing river’s line
Sucking in at the sides
Pulling in from the great divide
Those fine water droplets that glitter in our eyes.
Where creation is an instrument
And life itself a prize.