Crinkled runs

I stand at the top of a hill and see,
Spread out
           a visage      a river running down    
spirals      
those dales and valleys

I look at her lying prostrate    
before Me  
small trails of crimson looking like the rivers
Those self same runs
Do I make them?
Am I human?      Maybe      

I look at the darkness cloaking All
the Moon shining silently  
will It ever take Us
where My mind takes shape

Open the top and sup the future      
is that the ooze  left?