impending

some happy few to a multitude of others, uncertain. hands moving in echoes of hands, motion overlapping and unfolding lies before the lone audience. traceable. roaming inward half-blinded, some shades, some dots of light but mostly a warm remembrance of angered ones. connecting lines without a flicker, as she would put it, and rightly. if not for some impending pages death could gently slide by and cast her peace.