Messengers are out, dynasty strikes.
A haze of dust storm filters down in tearless eyes.
Not caring, not grubbing my inward eye.
I am becoming blind.
A white moon starts bleeding under the weight of wingless stars.
You never said, I never heard the rich voice within the rocks.
A tale went to asylum.
W trembled under the trees, listening to war drums.
Totems were incoherent.
Temples were mute.
I am nude in my wounds,
Cannot raise the hands, cannot hurt anybody.
A swallow has made a home in my home.
