you have to fight for the yard-long miles
like the wind in the cross-long fallows
alight with the fire of folded magic
tendering your sweet resignations
like fingerprints that smudge a cloudless sky
for we are the lost ones weary
come from an ocean of stolen devotions
circling and diving we pray
the melting wax of vintage candles
forming a sidewalk, nighttime display
they tell a sweet secret story
born in the june of the day
paid for like the rhymes of an hour
in this spreading motion at play
but there will always be something
breathless and lost in the wanting
it is found in the heart as it matters
a little whisper that swallows
and when it comes up for air
from the pillowed window frame seat
it will look to capture the moment
proud of the bounty
that lays at your feet
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/19/12
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