Crisis hours die a broken apple,
insurmountable insight creates;
and grows compact
as man’s unrest opens
hidden in transparent hands.
All parts are a fantasy of his being
in hours when prowess’s cry
resurrects the land like dulce autumn,
and facts lie hidden wet.
Perpetual phrase presents
short word on lips where
road doth travel, a border crossed in
issue exists lest these dreams unravel.