The breeze feels like an echo of a cold too cold to bear, as the gull glides on its currents and the waves of winter light.
Each of us with tales ‘n layered lives to be disclosed…
I sit in soft, surrounded solitude.
I think (/realise).
Pied white ‘n dull-green ‘n shim’ring black, treasuring the trove you’ve gathered.
Itsumo to eien ni.
The fire of the dragon’s protest-flame marks only its self ‘n message.