Angels were splashing about their milky feathers of steel above the black chiromancy of the park gates.
Now, however, there was no doubt about the mysterious woman sitting alone in the garden...

She was unravelling the fog of a flying machine lost at sea...

 

TBE

 

and in the polyhedric coal of a golden moth's eye, the park suddenly appeared in both front and top view.
A slow and dim sun was fading,  flexible and shining like a diving otter.

 

TBE

 

Dead leaves accumulated like brown snow flakes on the screen mist
until they covered its skeleton, entangled hip and shoulder bones sinking in quicksands and ashes,

 

TBE

 

Light-covered bags filled with fogs and feathers silently exploded in the air

above the ruined ship of dreams,

and the moon rose like a sweet drum of bronze.

The streets and the deployed hairs, the echoes and  loopholes, the smiles and the scaffolds had been given their names.

 

Continue...