Who’s driving this thing?
Is it revenge? Wires or veins?
Sphere, electricity, volts, blue.
Have to say a thing,
The sea had all the language enough.
Her weak limbs moved in session.
She created music in her silence
From the light of night’s pearl eye;
The shades were as varied as we are.
Or places, from the past -
They must flood now.
She roared in cold and silver.
Easy now, one at a time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.