Hunger

Tight, the grip deep within, nurtured by years of solitude
counting to the swill's ending hour
Slash that vision of chill amidst arid threaded landscape

A whisper beckons beating, come out of the dark
to then march on thundering hooves

Journey home now
Aquilo blows
the tides call

Spread, the ancient bud was invited
welcome by embrace, emerge as garden
Let go swatted limb, overlook the mountain
from its upturned shoulder

Wait for the arc's return, as remaining still
Untouched

and be

blessed to exhale