hic fient the pillars of salt nunc fient the salt of pillars those thirty ago the cherub at fault three those ago rex malus stands smaller quid est lough? the question is now the cherub blushes and straightens her brow qui est lough? the question is now she stands beyond the pitiful crowd her lofty gaze at the beaches of white the long lived love of salty life the cherub cherry trees stand far beyond the shore line the cherried cherub sees the flying of now-time on the beaches of salt where all things pass what stands at the line of the malus cast is the edge of time with a flaming heart and a blocking of thirst leads a life that's parched eternal and sacred stands the pillars of salt standing at the limits of a never-here future-time while the salt of pillars that create the hard salt pass under the limits of a once-here past-time what's washed under creates the eternal and what's called eternal is the passed-perched nunc. . . nunc. . . nunc. . . the becoming of the eternal nunc. . . nunc. . . nunc. . . the washing of the earth what she sees washed under creates the eternal and what she called eternal is the passed-perched hic. . . hic. . . hic. . . the becoming of her eternal hic. . . hic. . . hic. . . the washing of her earth she pounds her wings against the wind to attempt her becoming salt she glides she pressed her feet down on the beach with a grin as her feet become now calcified such began her calcification left with all but the living of the sacred the coiling love for her now pink toes goes further than her and her cries to grow she knows a past, a future to be she's hic et nunc, a cherried pillaring what now does she see, is she now eternal? what's eternal is what's passed, a now-hard kernel hic fient her pillaring salt nunc fient her salty pillars those thirty ago the cherry was malt three those ago her beauty smaller quid est lough? the question is now the hortus flourishes and straightens her gown qui est lough? the question is now she sits as the ground for the cherry cow her cherry tree littered love is the corpus for her growth as the blossoms blossomed pink parcels of thirty thousand hopes she knows a past, a future to be she's the ground for salty pillarings as far as the cherried cherub sees her blinding light is blossoming although many voices speak only one thing can be spoke the salting of the pillars the pillars salting hope what's washed under creates the eternal and what's called eternal is the passed-perched nunc. . . nunc. . . nunc. . . the becoming of the eternal nunc. . . nunc. . . nunc. . . the washing of the earth she knows a past, a future to be she's hic et nunc, a cherried pillaring what now does she see, is she now eternal? what's eternal is what's passed, a now-hard kernel