Pelt

Along the red road...
enter into the fissure
once fresh with the blood of
great torrent,
wandering into the heart of silence
once fresh with dew.
Follow the west wind.

They say that a feather and a brick
fall at the same speed when
dropped from a cliff.
They forgot to mention that the brick will
never fall upward, not like
the feather...

If the current of wind possessed
form,
not only when contracted as a
cyclone,
no, not like that at all,
it would be pregnant with the
strands and subtle shades of
the earth,
follow my form into this thread of darkness.
Sit down in my company and
shall we gather some branches to build
a fire?