To the moonlit lines, crossing paths, creating a map to different stories, with undreamed of endings, I go. I take in the misty airs, walk all night, breathless, careless and broken by unfounded imaginings.
My breath falls upon the way, a hollow register of each step. My fussilage heart could abound and rakehell… But I steady down on undefined tenuous invocations and call upon the firmament for the horn of plenty, the crossed bones or death’s crooked hand.
Sometime from now, our passages may counter by chance and I will walk, eyes set at rest, in my face of glass towards you arms pale and laden with things of supernatural virtue. Items to bring to your recollection resplendent reflections of a time that might have been