We have spinned focus / Colours blur to a single fixed mark / And you become my own optical illusion
We walk in / Over water-creases / Across snow-fields
The white houses that hug the hillside by day / Are set adrift in an inverted world by night / Floating, tilted on the lip of the sea
My wings emerge / While scars bear their teeth in my chest / And begin to consume me, alive.
Their optical illusion / Acquires depth / And governs minds
I miss your joy / At tasting the first fruit of each season