Your skin was involved in recent string of shadows, throwing the white shrouds on unknown faces. The visibility becomes a threat, plying like a black river via stone links.
Your muscles twitch and convulse. An invisible hand writes the judgement. A silent November looms large. I will wait for the snow to fall silently on the sun-dial.
Like silent shedding of petals counting the dew drops on grass. A tree of bones walks from death to death. Me standing on crossroads, on the moon’s path trying to learn from the mistakes.
