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You understand the mystery which
diminishes over things when they unloose their bones. You harrow me and the most harrowing scene in the morning cloth is the moment when I wake up with my soul caught between the agony of the mundane and the bewildering beauty of the most abandoned roads hushing sadly into your heart. Your eyes divide the light farther into a gate of vast tears. I’m overflowing myself from your hands to understand that the dream of this life is wind and storm. Your skin’s a rain that falls upon the wilderness to clarify the dust and the open darkness like a piece of death. For me it’s enough to utter yourself for the age of solitude.
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