This stream of whiteness, is awash, in the morning, the subject, of mild air.  This sheen, of pristineness, must be fleeting, but this tarnish, overnight, the soot of sole-less shoes, undone by tar, is premature - a deprivation, of the grandeur, of mountains, no longer, beyond, grasp.  Having emerged from a shower, you stood, in the living room’s center, a quarterback, drinking a beer, your assistants gathered, their gazes fixed, upon you, though a few, veered, uneasy, of a tax, upon the affluent, behind a veil, of race-neutrality.   And where was I:  present, an ambivalent participant, or omniscient, relegated to silent observation?  Before the muse, there is only music, revealing itself, luminously, as we facilitate, with fidelity, the unfolding, of the universe’s fate -- embedded, in every note.  Please do not interrupt, but to offer, gulps of water.  You are, shirtless, at the shore of eternity, incapable of envy, emanating kindness, with every glance, entering instantly, into intimacy, that passes nearly as quickly, like fallen leaves, in brilliant reds and oranges -- faded, twirling.