Familiar friends through a veiled door,
I'm set to waking
No sense of exact measures,
the teapot is humming with vague whistle.
Time is cleaving the air.
Trace -- silhouette of former image
luring the eye in a torus-dance, by
degree, resolution snaps in.
Webbed currents of pathways past,
leaping forth with harvest and feast;
budding deep in singular action.