Cinematic Pleasures of Epiphany

Washed upon the shores of past earth,
I came upon the low house in sand.
Therein, shelter, darkness.

Light within to see
the word written within bone
and nerve, breath moving
the frames, building
a charge of years.

Swelling with divided unions,
I came upon the sunrise afar.
Burnt star collapsing within
that low house, pulling everything

to the center,

focused, beaming,
emitting signals
not heard before.

Yet rotation of realms
about the fixed center (it too moved)

resolved the creativity of speakers
and painters upon the street, coming forth
to articulate

a genuine eidolon.

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