the warm fire of the cold skies
licks the land, of transparent stone
like ice, of sounds
songs of a waters calm
in seas beyond the age of time.
silence
of a deafening voiceless formless speech
without word
without sound
pure being
a wind of stillness
permeating the timelessness old
with a dry rain
hands
make the torque of a line
like a bracelet
upon
the fingers of the skies invisible hand.
people
wait for a parcel
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