We change with the weight of time, our
sarcasm as a genealogy of repentance
lifting us to an-other gait toward redemption

and yet our words follow us, belonging
in ownership of Self relying only on now as,
a moment too soon, the flutter be-comes lost

like shifting sands aloft, foretold in
the breath of air, (which just sustains me)
I become this moment of elevation

a geometry of cynicism thrust against
the glare of my own honesty and in
that instance I am the flame of intention

© K. James Ribble