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."

X

So this public prosecutor of space
reveals the mark of poverty
and the illusion of time within it: Love,

My intention,
Verse all my words.