Time for reconciliation was over locked hands across a table.
Questions bounce off cavernous walls.
Only in retreat was the presence felt.
Its voice wavered out of focus in unseen channel.
It moved the way beyond its own circumference after miles under capsule.
In rows of one the aroma of curtains.
A card overturned when stones were gambled.
Beats cropped into offered articles and curds with pepped up crumb nubs in coat button hearts and sea songs that go on without repeating.
A power reappears to a forgotten spirit with its foot in the pipeline.
No simple rhyme or cataclysmic séance could bare the lofty presence and incandescence of the return.
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