Allison by Robert Beveridge the scratch of pastel over the rough page. shapes that form and fall away, become new shapes. the fire that drives your hand across the paper. mountains ask you for a kiss smile as they erode. ice melts under your eyes. scriptures live in your blood never to be released course through your body five times per minute driven by muscle, by will that subverts law yet is outside it. the smoke of ages breathed into your lungs. such visions. exhale new civilizations groves of flowers that cry for only you. it is not finished—nothing ever is—but the change slows comes to rest.