One brick.

One solitary brick.

One pencil point

Upon the edge of time.

One Breath

All men are free to take

One heaving chest

So full of the Sublime.

One finger

Dances

Deep upon

The eyes.

One hand

Upon

The curtain

Of the skies.

All is done.

And yet begun.

One.

One life.

One yearning

Soul

To tell.

One spark.

That sparks

The nature’s

Swell

Of breath.

And heaving chests

Of the Sublime.

One pencil point

Upon the edge of time.