Starless night, crossing oceans. Drifting north and south in the wake. Lighthouse does not bring solace, For I heard whispers of my fate. Silently, I dream of my cloak. Red cherry, sour and fluffed slime. Once growing protected by green leaves. Kissed by the cloud forest. Now a dried bean, naked. No, I will not dread my time. For though I travel away, I’ve heard what they make of me. No, I do not fear the dark liquid. For the water will wash through me, once more. I will not bow to my time. I do not concede. No, I will twirl and arc in space, For the time transforms me— Twinkling obsidian pour. Milk and coffee, swirled.
