A great black quiet above lay

sleeping. An engine without steam

or heat. A mouth lost of words.

An open sky. Stars shining their jewels;

eyes without faces pasted in a forever place.

A steady hand. Fingers pointed with

wishes fall prey to tomorrow; the

hope of change knows only pain.

Time folds over, presenting a new face.

A breath never yet breathed. The turning

of the world under different clouds; no

two gusts of wind speak the same path.

Green becomes an aroma. Blue horizons

stretch even above storms.

Morning pushes in.


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