There is the ecclesiastical herald
placing so precious time in a bottle
beginning and end and motion between
a time for everything so perfect
coinciding with the ushering in
one season to the next and the next
How do we reconcile the inherent perfectness
discovered in the imperfectness of nature
the battle waged within consuming reason
the very reason sought in the howling wind
unable to grasp hold of and understand
only felt passing through who we are
To wake and to sleep is our very own season
let the perfect timing for everything find us
not to be forced not to be made
rather a total perfectness in existence
a total perfectness under the heavens
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