Soft the words come from the source. The energy is released in an effortless fountain, splashing along the side of the image of the blowhole,
soft the images dissipate surrendering to their curfew they reside collectively willing themselves to emerge from a place that leads back to the source, back to the earth, back through the enbankment that resurrects
her faith, she continues, comforting, the image remains and then aloft, simmers to the earth, resolute, directed, a wonderment of perfection. Soft
the words flow expanding the world from a place of nocturnal flight. Her destiny remains intact, fruitful, expanded, rejoicing and colored from
the froth of the sea.