Steeped in unordinary tales for now,
The converging of past on past yet still,
The moment of all history that press-
-es down immediate like all the rolls,
Of deepest lakes when moved from deep at root,
All time will never be the same or was,
Without the crowning scar deep at its breast,
From where the Prince Of Glory died.
The very world hangs nailed upon those nails,
The very time a cloth on such a barb.

Word gaming and semantic framing,
For fried physics brains and friends,
They make good company and strike up a dance,
Upon a slow stuttered train that halts and stops,
Starts again to see the dawn of play,
The dawn of something given laughter and lightness,
To find a piece of what is human in the learning,
To see the fun in semantic framing,
To see the good in closeness born from play.

Busied hands,
Fall tired on the screen,
Limp and sleep-primed,
But first a little more busy tapping,
And then a handy dream,
To rest the mind that rhymed,
And exceed a long time napping.