There’s a line, in all the ones you’ve set aside, where I begin to fade away. And like the wind that endlessly sways branches, I come back from the end to my birth. A single wave from your hand in the emptiness is enough to set in motion this new daze of hours, minutes, shadows eaten away... I circle myself. No limit stands in the way, but every inch of me knows winter keeps each step in view. If I light a flame, it’s so I don’t lose track of myself; if I close my eyes in the light, it’s so I exist secretly behind eyelids. Every thing that has been will come back to push its way through grass. It’s not risk-free. Here and there, every thing creaks. Heart will always be at the peak of its dying. For its dying, air, water, rust will cross to the other side... Black ink from a black sea flows from your hands to mine, squeezes the bait, spews jumbled words.

But here’s where I start to fade away. Dark line keeps to its course. Three key turns, and the body will feel its phantoms, its thick blood, the absurd shape of its interior ...

Air, blood, shapes...words tiring out their star, safeguarding circles remember in cold blood the time of sacrifices to a god as intangible as the urge to turn back.

Stone, sand, abyss. Silence that trails the crash, war cry, tempest; it mixes up with mine, white, shaky. But who says I take place in the world? Who says this day is just a day and doesn’t belong to me?