22. …..selves

You summon it
the spectrum, fleeting
ghosting from our full palettes

soul of light
the quick of that contained
in snow and ice.

And in the warmer climbs of southern thought
its rare and shifting presence in our sky
echoes the deeper
exhalation of a mystic god
and time, when custom wedded closer to the instinct,
urgings of flesh, the spur
that drives me to the edge of days.

Though lacking of that plumpyness of sound
sonority born upon the tongue
the warmth of blood on breath

until I learn your proper name
I will call you
Aurora
to my self.