a shattering of such glass: the zip-swift sound of a rope tightens around the squeal of rubber on the concrete. no, it’s the crinkling of plastic wrappers and the crackling of a fire. is he imagining the whistling, the soft snow falling to crown the golden-gray undulation of wind bent reeds, the crash-rattle of a daybreak that bleeds into the sea? (it is all yellow, so very yellow and love knows no time.)
- a remix of hyyh through the event horizon.