The brilliant intensity of happiness
before the uniformity of sadness returns.
It always will. It always wills itself.
Always from the perspective of the bright burn.
That's where it lies.
Once upon a time in the West
connections were broken; new ties were sutured.
A higher intensity from a new set of eyes.
Eyes attune to the searing sun.
Eyes transfixed to the beautify of the smallest things.
Poetic microscopy.
