The timeless wick curls back on itself as air invades, conquers.
Though men have stung in dead of night, leaving softened wills,
gravity will bear more that kill, more that never surrender.
Love gives tentatively, like rivers on mountains asleep 'neathe the sun.
A motionless rock splits the current, white stew bubbles and pours.
Some port looms in the distance ahead, always stunned
when the boat steers away, looking for a more resolute moor.
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