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.


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