Beyond the hour of darkness,
entering into eyes brimming
with artistic wonder, mind recalls
sterile eyes floating in backward lenses.

A piece of scrimshaw,
its segments, marred by time;
displays its penetrated scars
carved from a great white shark.

The slenderest thread
holds its form silently in
lullaby waves,
waiting for insight of
will to reveal
its silver earthen beauty.

Thus the artist
with a masters touch
could burnish the tracks
left by tears of trust
eclipsing my indigo ways;
who fancied an eagle of prey.

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