This second that you chose to plant the sword of your retreat is one with you. Your execution has ripened, your breath is with the spirits, your end--- winds me back to the beginning.

The stage has been set.

While you're down with eyes shut, I, on a stance above you is gathering all of being a man for a final motion.

The perfume that clings to your kimono dances to the rhythm of the wind that hums like a last reverberation of a drum for a death march. But the silent whispers of my sword is more defeaning than what is heard.

Your fate on my faith on you.

And so the sword sings rebirth as i pull it from the sheath. Staccato to the point of surrender--- your heart; that cries of piercing. Undressing every doubt, pushing all the courage, sweating every tear, firm on the aim I keenly wait for your commence.

And you commend.

Plunge to the skin of eternity. Gush of your rain on the painting of a nightsky on the sheets. Exhale. Soar from what is human.

And i, with your completion, shatter to a thousand lights... and melt to petals of cherry blossoms and be blown to the heavens.

I raptured for you, with you, free at last.