In the pursuit of monsters, in that thrilling hunt
Whom themselves may join in
Do not fall victim to their journey
Revel in small revelations and successes
As those two once too surely did not
And recall that a penumbral sunset is best watched
In the company of the road
Those on such similar long marches
as well in the hours in which it was not so sunk.
Consider that teahouse down the line
Where so many may dine
Not just with or without opinions
like those memories tucked within
ourselves folded over so many times as those that come and go,
or the ideals like a place they may choose to settle for a time
Bringing with them those carried precious palpable gifts or passing up to the next
Not just the teapot in the the house in the town in the wilds it exists in,
But the tables as well they sit at knowing where they stood and may again.
In the pursuit of that destination
Do not lose your journey.
Instead consider how they overwinter,
poured like tea leaves pressed well,
folding themselves like cards
or steel.
