This is a time of abeyance
We laugh at the untenable that dares to mock us
It is a time of slowness, heads back, bodies in supplication to the rhythm that shatters the havoc wreaked
With a timing entirely its own, the rhythm realigns us
Into what? We don’t know yet
This is a time of beat matching the dissolution to the rising
How does our song sound? Like a sanguine moon
We are perilune
We no longer rummage through, wondering, wishing, waning. No longer in the wake, we cherish the frenetic, the pain and the grace.
It is the grace that turns us
We live the lunar orbit
Our descant is our rawness
Face is the soul of this song.
Wrens on a Wire by Amanda Varrella 