The last glittering of fires in the deep structures of the heart, follow the hounds bathing aftert the hunt when it ignites your breath in the forest, grown deep inside the foreign languages  that shatter the sinister beauty of your reflection, humming and twittering with the bright eggs of consciousness battling with the sense of identity that fades in levels and on armatures of seeing-eye fibers, spinning delightfully out of control. Thirst is light, blood is wind...