Breadcrumb stars scattered on a tablecloth of space,
and the hungry dark with knives and teeth to eat,
lanterns are in short supply, however they are sparsed,
glowing luminescence burns away the dark.
On our backs and eyes gaped wide, witnessing this century glide
through the roots of the clearing so perfectly surreptitiously
you\'d never know it\'s happening;
the birds are gone in sleeping and the night-world full of humming,
sounds like dreamy somethings, of what I won\'t remember
but emerge the willful dawn, the death of envisionment
all us thinkers pronounced to prisons,
why liberty eludes us?
Fingers brushing skyward feeling forever in a palm,
watching the whole universe as it is being drawn,
waiting and dreaming, dreaming and waiting,
while the century glides past me.