The Wake

I sweep the stars, encircling the sky
In trailing fingertips that move the sun
That paper made along with ink and I
While time I slowed to confiscate his run.
Inside this land the winter has prevailed;
My palms press frost into the morning’s rise
And choke the yellow sun until she’s paled,
Dressing the riverbanks in crimson guise.
But still the graying beard of time can tell
That all the painted pages I have made
Are bound and bonded purely to the well
Of ink in your eyes and the love you’ve laid.
So know that summer’s bliss lies in your smile;
To change this world, just stay with me awhile.