I know about a silent sky
full of layers and secrets,
touching those clouds which travel with us.
Night is finely hand-stitched here
the past takes the thing of shreds and patches
and torques them into the realm of the surreal.
I whisper it over to myself
it rustles, like a taffeta curtain across the floor.
live your way to the real answer.
A dizzying high mark the late night,
the drummers stay till the last sip,
night birds exchange trust with fear.
Days of chlorophyl, stromata and leaves
let us draw the lines of unfaithful moment,
the belief becomes a memory now.
