Time to daydream of the waveform in stream and continue the dream of a sigil’s truth. You became the recluse, stepped beyond the phone booth into knowings you no longer needed to prove. You opened. You asked. The old ways left fast. From future to past you followed the brick road in hoping the slope in your coping would cast a line to the signs of divine frequency between you and we. Willing to let that which no longer served fall to the curb, and accept that as painful as justice can be for those closed off to see or to listen because of tradition, and blind to the ways unconventional, constructs you traveled beyond, you carried on. We are fond of your courage, your flowing endurance no matter the wrong, wherever the pond.

You are no longer broken. The Author has spoken, and transferred in honor, this title to others with voices in harmony – “this world be as believed,” gifting this lifting designed on the energy of unseen draftsmen of all I am craftsman. The Architect, I admit, of formlessness never born offers this token as omen for-never-lorn…