I don’t remember the word I wished to say. The blind swallow returns to the hall of shadow, on shorn wings, with the translucent ones to play. The song of night is sung without memory, though. No birds. No blossoms on the dried flowers. The manes of night’s horses are translucent. An empty boat drifts […]

I don’t remember the word I wished to say. The blind swallow returns to the hall of shadow, on shorn wings, with the translucent ones to play. The song of night is sung without memory, though. No birds. No blossoms on the dried flowers. The manes of night’s horses are translucent. An empty boat drifts […]