Once, you oscillate, your hands in touch with the experience of colors. Do you know they don’t even exist? As such the magentas line is closing shortly after the shadows. Ghost images, straight-lined: time and its slot.
We reside in the hour, a still letter.
Blue, black, burning, are going loose in circles.
All is fragile in essence, matter deforming.
Traces, they happen to be wiped out, as our hearts surrender.