Thinkin'

A microscopic fuse

                lit up around a zed

will temper silver blues

                to reach the curl of red

if folded with a surge

                that crystallizes sense;

the needs of each converge

                at their fullest extent,

the flame of least reflection

                encoding burning lines

for those who warp dimensions

                or lame dissembling signs,

and each suspended beacon

                shading a psychic lace

crisps up the floating gardens’

                encrypted cyclic shape.