tundra is breathing
the ancient into bones.
crimson candles
question every breath.

no. i don’t feel.
i only sense more
than my heart can contain.

the pride of supple trees
sway winter silhouettes.

festivity of voices
vanish to afar.
in the wild of empty fields
quiet is the agony.

delirium’s hands
cover eyes benumbed.

how soundless is the word?

to flee from
countless moments
is to flood pavements
with phantosmia of rain.

it’s two worlds.
time’s ashen veins run
through infinite pines.

whenever nights kill
the softness,
it haunts
against cathedral walls,
against the violent sky.

shadows are deeper than shades.


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