Cheap timber moans. Papered-over walls peel

Timelapsed seams of enclosure dismantle atoms once again

When right light hits the prints left beyond the glass

The Blind Cartographer marks another altar

Welcome back. We love a broken regular

Purging sapling myths, for ancient authors

Ride the collision and the view grows pretty 

As the cracks unravel

The ground turns to something for others later to climb

Let it not be us again

Pointed fingers aim at upbringing

Imprinting stories atop plotless paths

Reentry demands a second offering

In roots we dig to breathe decay

Ground-down tendrils with pestles

Foraged bulbs of Rhododendrons

Myths of the young sons, recollected 

Scrape the bark and strike with ferro

Dilute our precursors to designer fires

Look to our brothers, blood and others

Parented folders of tomes and orders

Repeat riddles of sacred codas

Mock our marks of pretend progress

These tracks were washed so not to follow

But flags remain for pilgrim vigor

Blame the root, the Three, the Father

Or free the story with slaughtered Offer