moor
An earthbound heart filled macrocostic microcosm.
Holding
sepaled Gods,
beneath mossed air,
above watered peat,
within fired asphodels.
Warriors heads of white down cotton grass
within spiked helmets, necks bowed, path staring.
Marking footsteps of men,
Men long gone.
Crowning heath spotted through branches.
Four-point stars, not witchical, mystical. Strain heavenward, officiously demarking that place that thing between that good and that evil. When that thing becomes a place, that thing is neither that one or the other, this or that. That thing is unconstrained by language, that thing is named for that what isn’t named. That thing, that thing a place, that place of strained stars. Strained stars that thing.
Purple wedding sheets cover under.
Man cannot see a billion kingdoms crushed slowly
Mosses
finger touching
rooted bed
eiderdown
spring back in his wake.
Sharp reds,
amaranth,
golds,
pinks,
shocking in isolation
caerulean,
greens
wadj,
a man of
purples,
tetradic
blues,
perfect in place.
Blacks, whites.
whites.
Geometry started here, it’s arranged across kernels, through buds arterial heart.
Tri-layered, oh holy tri under the heathered, grasses rampant sky.
3 The light maker cultivates patience, overcomes tendencies to hate to anger. Present suffering being the geometrical sum of multiple angles.
3 Souls of gluttons underseen by Cerberus fluid dynamic of ice and rain pattern repeat
3 that testify: the Spirit, the water and the blood; and the three are in agreement.
Upon ancient bedrock rest.
Gneiss crushed and wrinkled like barking of an ancient oak the moor holds. Weighed down by the very atmosphere itself. Forged forced quartz and lichen parenting life on its back.
Back behind, armoured living skin proudly spread for the corvids.
Absence though angled colour memory fade, seeping through your fingers like the peaty water within you. The moor holds.
Holding you
go to the moor,
lay in the moor,
kneel at the moor,
be-ing the moor.
N. L. Chaundler 