“Fox in mere embers, lies just out of hiding,
nine tails aglow with the light they’re providing“,
verses, elusive, in dodging the candles,
cursive in something translation can’t handle.
As epics were written and lost on the way
and odysseys mumbled, estranged by the bay,
lanterns and flashlights had burnt out together,
searching the moor for a tale in the weather,
and filaments whispered, from your ears to mine,
in salvaging cliff notes from deep in the brine,
“fox in mere embers, lies just out of hiding,
nine tails aglow with the light they’re providing.”

Verses, elusive, in dodging the candles,
cursive in something translation can’t handle;
words on a heartstring, and lyrics on paper,
water in rainfall just turning to vapor,
roses for no one, and stones for Rozetta,
matching a lip-lock with crimson poinsettias,
romancing concept with blind innovation,
romancing diamonds to standing ovation
with love as our secret, and still all unknown,
and even by candle, we’re still all…alone.
“Fox in mere embers , lies just out of hiding,
nine tails aglow with the light they’re providing”.

As epics were written and lost on the way
and odysseys mumbled, estranged by the bay,
the lights seem acrylic, and so far behind
like candles in blackouts , like two palms in kind,
and dressed incognito, as sirens in white,
they dance and allure with a song for the night.
Metaphors mutter in hopes of describing,
like relapse and whiskey, or pills in prescribing,
explaining away all the foghorns in sounding
as misty white maidens’ acoustics resounding;
“fox in mere embers, lies just out of hiding,
nine tails aglow with the light they’re providing”.