Limbo

                  l


I am doing naught but exhausting myself
Wracking my nerves with dream driven deadlines
The weight of possibilities, a phantom yoke
Whilst years past are pestle to my mortar

                 ll


Then
The opiate sweep
Of rice fields
The slow morning blue birth
Of mountains
A caul of sunrise on
Their shoulders
The first bird. The first note.
Delight unfolds.

It is all i have. It is all I don't.