Especially, it's

hard at night to stare into the quiet abyss below my feet and resist the urge to jump. To feel miles and miles of nothing and nothing again speeding past me with the angry hiss of displaced air. And then again I also wonder if I really am standing on the edge, or if the world has already ended (crashed, burned) around me and I just can't tell the difference. Looking up, so I see

the stars are

running away

Flying off into the horizon with their

Four-dimensioned brilliance

Their echo teases on the balcony of two lovers talking with the shadows

While love is still dark communion with the galaxies


Saffrons in the garden.

Yes, there was once a

Naming of the stars in which legends were made

And oceans named in principles.

And I worry that,

If I am not careful and the equilibrium is broken (oil into water, water into oil), there may never be another balance. Never another blackbird singing on moss-covered fences to say to me that a placeā€”a home is definite and absolute.

That to plunge is

Definite and


Because, you see

Water was once clear with

Open-armed trust and

A million other sacrifices in the name of progress, of

Smoke and grit in the eyes.

Though sometimes, when the water isn't slow, lucid green and while my blood still rushes if I stop my ears,

I, too can be found

Under the mulberries and into

The twilight.

When I say that I'll be waiting

It is not the first lie I've told.

A/N: told you I was experimenting.