The waters of night have broken. The whisper of veins is heard tapping on the window-pane. Torrents of laughs are also heard on the roof. Up there one imagines a few coffins bound on the morning's shoulder. Night falls on tracks of rain.
Ink turns blue, becoming milky between beginning and end.
Unhappy to his heart's content, he floats over the birth of dawn. When night breaks, wind summons dawn loud and clear. Many a soul are still asleep. Just after the shower, the sky asks blue questions. Through what I love.