Ten, three, and four.

The shadows shift,

their mood uncertain.

Calm in the heralding of the day,

hints at a still creeping tension.

Stretched thin,

snapped taut,

tuned in,

ready for the maestro.

The groan

of the orchestral pit

before the curtain rises.

Seats full,

curious spirits

gather in to see

what the light has gathered,

and what frequency

it my intone.

Give it a little push,

then pull it back.

Hot as it wants to be,

then smashed

into a frigid bath.

Seafoam shores

steaming in explosion,

as the volcano

makes new land.

Hear the spirits clap.



DJR – 2023

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