The sun beats mercilessly. A coastline invites the violence of the great lake.
A sinking feeling of a boat. The battle of tides and limbs. You can see the colors, the dragons flying. The blasted sky and blackened clouds. A shriek sets the lake on fire, as the dusk sets in.
A tribal instinct to burn the fences, sets the horizons free for a new comet, landing from unknown space. You want to touch the lips of a mute, blotted moon.
Fireflies start dotting the night. You move inward; find a dark niche to graze the wounds. The hurt brings the words. You pick up an axe and start chopping the dead wood.
