four feathers awash in the sea of Conscious mist
whispers tickle against sandy particles encased in the lie of mortal industry
we are comforted at long last in formless knowing, free from Imperial direction,
denied scales of dutiful measure
a small moment when the Heavens reveal a glimmering river of Holy oil in which we
rest lightly
rendering
torrents caress our reckless souls until the Chariot announces an instant reckoning
ageless equations subtracting golden hues of galactic dust
the Phoenix hurls inward plunging to taste the Sun
reanimated, fierce and hungry
Mercifully searing into flesh just until the next Turn