The wind plays the light through the leaves without names. Rooted, faces buried beneath sight.

Allied, trickling through the shining, light dances, flippantly caresses the ground. Nights, like isles, grooved into the earth. Layer after layer of leagues of the languages of the dead.

Life falls clumsy on the earth. Squeaming, warm, green blood, glittering in the sun’s eye.

Only shade removes the shadow. A cloud over the pure heat, radiating imperceptibly into forms.

These hot eyes, born through us, disguise perception. Roman centurion, tortoise; grooved shale. We are caught in the rains of wind, blood, sand, beach; the closure of veins which trickle, trapped into dark marble.

Our empires: words, and the stone cast from aeons of fallen sun and shade. Tortured by time into buzzing, fading speech. Creeping, fingertips touch the shocked, living animal faces; complex masks woven from starlightings.

We stare into the birth that shimmers, touching through shadow. Meat, to blood, to bone, to organ cycle endlessly through the calm, waving green; touched by the ebb and flow of wild winds, caresses of heat, air and warmth.

All touched by the body, blinking like a wound in the burning; shaped like a basking shark against the brief precipice of dirt.

Writ to fall, in twisting dials of thunder.

As bone to earth; breath to starling light of sun.