Sounds, not syllables.
And all is rather still.
Wither, whence, did the rolling wind take up those leaves?
Three, two, one.
The city is mapped.
A code of arrationality and potent instinct.
Be ‘tween two unknowns.
Everalways all together.
There, but for the purest chance, go I.
To a-waiting ideas, then, return.
A new day begins.
Nexus, beyond ever-shrinking waters.
You are e’en clearer; by more stars alight.