Difficult to rise earlier than nautical dawn on a summer morning;
almost cool. certainly damp. A streetlight dims, leaving behind a
slowly fading aura.

Black integument of a burnt tree, stands as a Giacometti
person, long legs walking under a sultry sky, each blade
of grass growing tall on ashes.

One foot slips, one world flows to another. What was
closed is now open. Should I continue on? Or have I

"pushed
          to the  limit"?