The Shape I'm In

   
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How much I miss    
to moss in love    
holding the mold    
to gorgon stone    
   
lifetimes ago, this    
ancient road.    
   
Horizons beam    
my wanderlust dream:    
   
I am dim      
of years away      
from the final     
dandelion blaze,    
   
still sleek from behind    
with the Sun going down    
‘til morning lurks    
to hone the worm    
   
& I (...alone,    
   
at night,    
aloof and on hooves,    
am rambling for love    
at the end of Beyond...)    
   
wish to bite    
these curious skies    
with reborn eyes,  
   
on firefly wings    
across the ranging twang    
as the countryside crows    
(with craggily-bent)    
   
these hard-up hills    
to the faceless brunt.    
   
I brow my spells    
in leafy black-green
where sullen moons   
sulk in pretty-pink  
   
     
   
   (colors to dust    
   by the restless
   reproach
   of a rustling dusk)    
   
 :    
   
I am mossed & made    
on the honey.bear mark.    
   
I mulch & murk    
'til the unicorn drinks.    
   
   
   
How little you miss    
to dwell in stone,    
these forgotten roads    
a lifetime ago.    
   
The horizon sings    
of worm & wing,    
   
that perpetual gaze    
of rock & gust.