Ron Koppelberger
The Outline of Midnight
Rather than the fretting sense of dust and strange charge, charge in procedure, charge in midnight sandwiches and pregnant moments in sweet clover, in bursting pinnacles in flow, Clay found the hodgepodge of seconds before midnight to be a whispering contention of inspiration and flittering possession. He chanced paths of delirium for the outline of midnight, he dreamed the oblique yield of Eden, at close gatherings of eternity and grace, he dreamed of day by day essentials in shadow of anything triumphing the space between today and tomorrow. Clay worshiped the plenty of what would be, the enduring turn of fulfilling skyward advance. The outline of midnight appeared and in mists of gossamer Sabbath, paused, inhaled and suspiring a blessed sundog revolution. The revolution in angel laters and eyes of fire, the revolution of Saffron gild and wheat wills, in grace of forever. The sustenance in revolutions outline. Clay pondered and sighed near the edge of the fray.
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