Present. The sound does not seem to be yours. Joy is the echo. It makes you calm.
A bell. You perch. Fear of abandonment. Nature. You, undecided, eavesdrop. Fuss is made by the alive ones. You chose.

Present. The sound does not seem to be yours. Joy is the echo. It makes you calm.
A bell. You perch. Fear of abandonment. Nature. You, undecided, eavesdrop. Fuss is made by the alive ones. You chose.
Unperturbed. You are overcoming ugliness. You keep dreaming
.

Abandoned sentry boxes. Lost borders. Battles. Without a winner. Memory as a friend. Stands. In the cold night. As long as it lasts. You breathe. The kiss of life. One. Yours.

And there are also these moments like endless dashes. Without nothing to follow in between them. They are naked. Exposed. The memories spread back behind. Stacked. The hours pass. Orphaned.
Like an endlessly back and forth of the living. They find no breath. They are lost in recurrence.

Mind Game. Physical camera of editing. Repetition. Rebuilding stage. Magical. Freezes time. Pry. A statue. An expression. A smile. You can fill your museum. An exhibit. An onlooker. A love.
Prayers. They share breaths. Unearned fellow travelers. They share loneliness.
A glance. An glimpse of her own. Aiming. On you. A shine. Lost just when your eyes blinked. Nourishing your hours. You ask. To read the signs right.

To get into the line. Words. Gives the right. For the foreign to shove in. Feeling dizzy. Caravan. Without color. Destined to arrive. Marble silence. It frozen the first hours. Procedure/ process. New life. Dressed loss.
The silence wrapped up as a wish. It shares your oxygen. Soul. Breathes near you. She.


Nights. Cease of fire. Armistices look like waitings. You know. You fight. Winters. Springs. You find redemption in silence. Images are dancing on you. Riding. Intruders. Dressed in uniform. From your own army. Peace. Unknown word. Dead memory. Impregnable. Like the dream.