*
Scryer of Time.
On sky weathered stone
our accidental tourist has stepped
through long horned, shaggy coated, cattle
to glean and ponder
the sun in rippled grain:
no shadow cast
from this bright interior’s sheen
the mountain top of yonder earth
beckons…
*
Should an eagle become an egg
all fracture
I’ll fly!
I’ll fly!
beyond that outer maelstrom
of troubled cloud
and return heather dusted
head space full
of truth’s sweet, fragrant lie
lipped to life’s cold scrutiny
in a fluid bowl of vision.
*
May moss-fleck
reflections
trickle…
to ground
and save us one and all:
Scryer of Time.
*
France & Vincent 
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