From a new book in the works, titled Lone Hunter
Dear, are you waning or waxing?
we shall leave this to time and chance
a trace, that crosses the fault line
now, aligned as we are, as if it was to become a long, dark night
we were surveying, searching, measuring, of sorts
there in the vista, I can find you
hunting by the light
as if there was some urgency, under the canopy of a night sky
Imagine retracing our steps, to be born here and glide along with patience
you whispered, am I emerging or descending? tell me, are you a lone hunter?
Just as it was, you come to me during the small hours
yielding, before you follow from above.