“To write everything is to put a sword in the hands of a child”

red turns to green, Do not make a difference.

both the same and the different

are cut down all the same by war machines.

Endless mistakes of snow

words falling, failing

My imagination turned black

False stars, ghost stars, the sky envelops us in stone

the weather is our pagan religion, lost within caverns,

faith in the eye of the whirlwind