A slice of time. Curling, peeling. Back from the edge of the knife. . Light fluttering. As if between two trains. Motordrive frames of life. . Long blends of days.
His open eyes. At first light. We see. An echo of his mothers smile. . At her breast. His sister pressed. Outside. The sun begins to warm the ancient tile.
Just like in the movies a message. Comes through all the static and hiss. Pulling just enough words from the storm filled sky. To know that someone somewhere needs this.
Find a heart that you can speak to. In the language of your own soul. In the stillness of the water. Find the peace to make you whole. A passage to illumination.
Now some small parts seem right scattered here and there. One smiling face in a crowd that's angry and scared. Can't seem to see where it doesn't get worse.