tom taylor

clear song

entry portal a newer world’s order arrived
within chants the plural mold affirmed at
houses flung then stirred spoon in hand is
the tale of the day’s beginning in the heart

air’s flood from lung to sun the wheel acts
a fortunate segment alive and well inside a
terminal strain seething along in bumps and
grinds of light emanating from inside lines

where the detail forms along measured tact
the personal is set free to roam the skies and
hold the tempo down for other days to seem
the land at strike and gong the latent forces