He rises slowly.
Shoulders,
then waist, upright.
Kenneth's raging heart—
unwinded.
The ghosts of dust settled,
and the earth was satiated.
The leaves of the tree swayed,
blowing wind past his ears.
His efforts—again in vain.
Though, within repetition,
beauty must be found.
No.
Forged.
This moment is precious
not because it is,
but because he is.