God creates missions. I am going nowhere. Today there will be no tomorrow. I am alone for once to see your shining face, but i haven't laid periphory on you in years. Come on down to the shores of Babylon and sense the echoes out among the trees more than you'll ever know...
The birds will flutter up among the echelon, and we will sit down below on the rocky bank, in the shade of the trees so large and covered in moss. We will sit on our asses and hold hands and joke. It will be cool, it will be October. I'm not sure yet if I will be in love with you, but this day will definitely make its case. Plead guilty, I can sense the night coming in. We better get going, the leaves are getting restless.
By the warmth, I will kiss you for the first time in years it will seem, but it will really only have been months.
Like a sonnet, you will be ten more lines closer to my heart. Lines afraid lines divided lines remissed. I can feel your beauty as I swat the mosquitoes away on the porch. They will drive us inside. We will sit upon the rug and look at old photo albums.
I'm afraid of you that this will never happen. I am the Empty Garlic. Filled with hope. Forget about the odd-times ahead, I have hope ahead of what was once my own grace. Give me grace, I think. I am caught, meat-hooked on single-lined allusions and aphorisms.
But I can sense it all, I can smell the trees... They aren't pine but they sure sense that they know who they. All those rings, all those years stagnated.
And the saints will stave off the rest while we are indoors, away from the divinity of the land. This is a calling.
I can fear the Lord. but I fear love more. I fear women.
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