An image of dark, glossy stone. Crystallized, as if by some unseen and unheard lighting, ages ago. I can't bring you here. I can't keep you there. I'm gone.

Absence means death in the eyes of memory and if memory dies civilization crumbles. Absence means the end of civilization

Gone so far, gone so long. As if swung by a great storm, swaying eternally. The ground is no longer remembered. The sky is all around, all beyond. Falling forever through the blue.

Always, A bridge, a thought, a swirl of bronze in the galling breezes of the northwestsoutheast and all again. A memory slumbers, shackled. It is too tired, it is too much.
The clouds seem marble made and marble cast. Slowly, they rumble on. Wonder, if, one of the rumbles notices another, sees another, will they crash and burn together like burning houses? Do not know, its blue and through the blue and not marble

After an eternal second of betrothal to the complete absence of self, I return. And I find myself in the same place, in the same season, in the wrong year and the wrong headcares. I wish to be gone again. I wish to remain. I'm a falling apple, a thought in passing, a seed, an acorn nut.

I'm the wind that I fall through and the thought of the wind and the boy that thinks about the wind.

I remain.


I remain nowhere, shackled and bound by the body eternally falling through the breeze.