Finding My Intention
Respectfully making my way to call out your name:
"The last of my intentions."
But form maintains I hold this name to recall
the waste of destitution,
saying, "Take time!
These seized moments,
this ever-upward conveying municipality of escalating frames
are but slipping past.
And as with smoke in other times of fire,
the influence of one's past is he,
exactly for a foraged second."
So this public prosecutor of space
reveals the mark of poverty
and the illusion of time within it: Love,
Verse all my words.