Volta in Motion

 
cooled surface rock belying unrest

–of crucial components closed off in core

moss growing on mantle coating uproar

–that red-hot mettle in temporal chest

those mixed-up elements must decompress. . .

lest features be altered forever more,

to carving in stone, decrying before,

the state of all start, not meant for arrest
 
 
but where is the channel? None are in ground.

just fissures and fault-lines meeting the eye. . .

test now—by touching—it’s yet to be found,

step light and step quick–away but standby,

‘til smoldering molten fashions fresh mount–

and builds a new base that’s closer to sky.