They are the Smiling Faces masking their intentions in attendance amongst the tension Perched high atop the crests, with covert vests of their gated grid-matrix pyramids They overlook vast fields of lost

That light is captured by treetops again. It shakes free its magic and onto me. Mary Zane slide into a leafy river afternoon; Earth refines its song, music for living. What is this tugging At the corners