Notch Of Gesture

They are now snuggled past- reposed At each notch of the dust- dispossessed Their ashes bristle fast with breath of darkness. That once thrust upon the moment- embedded. The dusts of black infinite Refrained from rhythm reveling Those settle slowly over their coffins- refluxing And blood made patterns to sky blue - anguished. When I wink at, in ember thought Across the little wing of fallen tears Someone slashes me to go slow To the flared fire – amuck- swooping.- When bare smokes sizzle over sylvan meadow The misty breeze beckons with the twist and turns Into the reek of voices- interior Their extended breath raved up like sportive art That slithers with words of silver lining into the notch of gesture- archieve.