Dawn breaks and gold threads out

And...I run..

Like I could catch the...

Falling..of the moon in my hands.

Ancient Light.

What shelter do you find in me?

Hands pressed into indigo skies...

Like a child waving, Goodbye.

Now, this old temple turns into it's dawn greeting.

The golden chords wrap tight and pulls at every silver string in me.

The thought of giving a breath

...or taking a breath

Holds me to an old silence.

Such things!

When I feel as though

I could of caught her and held her forever in these hands.

To think. The thought....of movement within loss....

Fosters threads that burn and bleed....brighter than gold or silver.