Horizon Identity

My horizon identity

never moves or sleeps,

but lies in the flickering bud

of your opera;

such tranquilizing

generosity.

You don't quite know

just where the sun rises,

or what my window ajar

is trying to whisper,

which only goes to show

That I am more transparent

than even a dying star,

hanging in the flickering sky

of your melody;

Pacific Lullaby

reminiscent.