The seagulls in the streaming water and up on the sky. Why did you drag me down to the outermost mountains?
Behind the trees.
Wind, drag me with you across the plains, drag me all the way down to the cliffs. Can I write that? Somewhere behind the eyes a careful lamp looks.
At the time you were still a part of the slow, black beings of the mountains against the desperately fragile silence of the night. My bones are also making sounds, and inside them a dark being undulates and moves.