You are a rainspiller, a windblower
flying across the sky
pattering your face against my windowpane
as I stare at the void unblinkingly
Any passer-by can shovel you to the trashcans of history
as I let you snow on the sidewalk of chance, ceaselessly
Hold your breath and catch sunmotes in your empty hands
I drink wintercups filled with nothingness
Pregnant with the void
I break all these people made of glass with my fingertip
I'm walking through the snow as I'm walking through you
On the road sparkled with nowhere
The cities of glass collapse
Chill words rain down on me
Drenched in language shreds
Derided by shadows
You stare at me tongue-tied and soulless
Tired of raving in the desert of words
Unredeemed by the tide of desireless songs
I rise with suntrails of dust
Your face is nowhere to be found
All roads lead to heaven if you tiptoe on the glass ceiling
Today is the birth of storm-dwellers
Sooner or later you'll find yourself hovering
over the void endlessly
Ungraspable white noise falls through the
empty
night sky
As hail stones astonished storm-riders
You get lost in the sun's black eye
Tonight time is unmoored and i drift to unknown shores infinitely as if no second had ever elapsed. Echoes of foreign voices beam through me and dance with deceitful lightmotes, but you are even more elusive than them. I sometimes think the lake i'm crossing is your own rippling skin, but am startled at this chill surface. Tomorrow the sun will be stranded on the shore with me, and we'll be just as surprised to be born again, and just as forgetful of each endless night. My motionless body will rouse with the first stroke of wind, or maybe with your own breathstroke.
Don't rub your eyes too hard or you'll be nowhere to be found.
Voices are r