Somewhere between life and lore, cotton swills the hill on top of the pale cloud.
There is a sound of Barbastelle bats shrieking in the virgin forest
where ancient souls rest in ancient soil. Coffins are stones.
The air is stale and wet. Outside-
a boy fetches the rain, the whispering wind and takes a look at the sky.
The face of his grandfather's memories shred past paradise.
The garnet-sunset crawls into his soul and out of the night, a black ass canters
into his dream. A s