no part of me taken from time, all times I’ve carved many things for those who need it to be place. At time any hour I needed to have a place, the place I carved is a closed door now.
this post goes unconventional in midweek, time falls and calls us at time we need it to be. The wound found me in place of my being. A dream of a man who did not whale but his spirit is place of whaler that will not die, it sheltered me not from rain but sun. My life is all but dark hours, lines drawn on anything we can draw upon. We are many things and we are not dead.
We live within a different light. Knights of hour watch.
no death can finds dying of design of mind that wrestle itself. I pulled my shoulder out, and in memory, ending the cedar chips under my feet, I rest for moment. Lean on the work. I lay on them and make a snow angel for a moment to know the only person who would appreciate it know, smiles down where work continues eternal.
I don’t fish or hunt, I make work for ancestry of time. not whaler but there are parts of me that go deep into depth where I loose myself.