like the fluent paths of air,
mystic drops upon our foreheads,
like our whispers to the moon.
even if we knew who were were, who would we be now?
translucent and unbound crystals
make their way around our faces,
profileing us in a light we've never seen before,
and we take it all for granted, and we wash it all away.
without durress upon eyelids
oaks sleep before they dream.
take away my body
and leave me without idea
if everything were black,
what light would reflect?