His actions are complete and resolute. And only light escapes their finity.
Next door are blinds and lampshades, all disjoint.
In the space between the street lamps And the passing lights of cars, Subtle motions rise to fill the gaps, Swirls like a cornfield's or a starry sky's. I know what separates is more than walls. The door is locked behind, the room is clear, Just swirling air, the void between the tools. Then the story's surely somehwere else. The future, born in a blinding rush.