There’s a mirror that reveals
the truth and an hour glass with a
voice. Dripping water tells the
story, where long tracks hide distant
whistles. In the background the earth
groans and the trees are its gray hairs.
There’s a feast on the table, on the other
side of the best door. It’s improbable
to escape the crossroads ahead, yet
there’s always shelter, even when no
ones around.
Roger Singer 