Once more

I sense your approach on a wavelength more subtle than felt by sinuous tissue
 
Like the nearing rumble of some unfathomable engine
 
I approach the spring of motion with a recovered reverence
 
While pantomime automata remain transfixed in self-fulfilling feedback loops
 
Fearful, ignorant, and cowering mollusks awaiting redemption rather than bringing about change
 
Their acquisitions, symptoms of a terrible disease—leading them to feel entitled to vastly more than others
 
And all is hoarded, or squandered, used-up, and wasted in their wake
 
Their bodies the event horizons of a sick spiralling insatiable lack
 
Knowing only to take and not how or what to give in return
 
The darkest of seeds set planted at the centre of the voiceless vortex
 
But you are greater
 
Your pulse echoes through eons
 
A beacon too faint to be noticed
 
You require something of your witnesses
 
An attunement that is at once an atonement
 
Demanding not blind acquiescence but bold organic awareness
 
Your breath supports transformation but not to effect exclusion
 
What is made of your contact is as much a matter of thing touched as the act of touching
 
You are graceful but you bestow not grace
 
For most you appear as ephemeral
 
For the few you are as a mountain
 
Cinders smoulder and are extinguished upon your banks
 
You are continuous and replenishing
 
You stop the spinning and in its place remind us of rising and lowering lungs
 
Stillness and silence empowering roaring resistance
 
May you collapse the funnel function in favour of the rolling waves
 
Reaching out to one shore at a time
 
Suffusing the sands in a luscious admixture
 
Liberating the dead satellites from their tucked configurations
 
Smash the shells that spines may rise in their place
 
To stand and face each other before turning and embarking on the way