Though my heart beats in a metronome of monotone,

like the meticulous ticking of a grandfather clock,

your will tells me that the winds make it all well enough.

I am a phasing, burning bridge of dissonance,

and you are the forever guarded will of hope.

Contours of the dissolved forest,

once venomous, now soften

unfolding a glowing filament muffled in the concentrated fog.

While I count powdery stars and ephemera wings,

you lean towards the shades of horizon,

to unleash the light from the well of crawling dawn.