I weep, grasping onto a intangible moment
where I could define the core of happiness,
but as I conceal my thoughts, the amber arch
gently strokes the soles of my ashamed feet,
kissing them incoherently close to silent sobs.
Like a photograph stuck in a time frame,
I drop my vigilance through the aging lake
and suffer under my heavy confessions,
asking the creator of the aerial compass
to lead me and wash away the dusky sin.
Somewhere, my arms are lifted,
no longer gripping the skeleton
of my broken and exposed paint.
Please assuage these whimperings
and take my onerous apology
into your river of light impunity.
