An old faith

I saw on the horizon
the buffalo void of
magnificent endings,
as they gathered
under swirls
that ate them
to spit up mountains
and butterflies
where two lions
run majestic seeking
the fish of light and wonder
deep within the tower

Blue mountains
red heaped up
on the flowers
soft and yellow
pink of a
brownied green

Sweet bales
mark the long distance
and butterflies
speak to mountains
and we hide
and we play to seek
bouquets of truth
popped like balloons
on the flesh