“...bathed in a light clean and warm, trapped in a room of shifting form, a shroud of clouds, a passage of stings, a bag of bones in a box with wings...
- am lost...
...a path ahead in spectral frost, a whispered lie, a hidden cost, a pattern worn in daily cloth, a photograph of what is not...
- am lost...
...an angel prince with peacock wings, in shadow lands he schemes and sings. A toy for ancients set for the fray...
- am lost...
...half a promise on a broken day, spiny wheels sigh and show me the way...”
