We talk in cypher

your ideolog

 

well versed in

pattern

 

of retreat.

 

Sun stares

wintry pale

 

hovers on its

silver sea.

 

This is the

magic hour:

 

nature of

becoming:

 

breath to body

conscious.

 

Eyes flutter:

an empty room,

 

we talk in cipher

I have no master

 

switch, translation

for the ‘deal’

 

hands express

mile upon mile

 

of empty;

 

I am

palladium.