He spoke the words just as they came to him in the moment, in that rare tongue he had otherwise refused to speak.
Inky depths.
Veiled ruin, soft
'neath weight unmeasured
borne down easy
by silver-tipped wings,
golden leaves
and blue garb
Darkened earth and still water
poise together in phantom paths.
---------
"For I had seen a pile of dead leaves. The breeze caught and lifted one. Beneath it was a footprint, my own, bare and deeply trod into dark earth after the rain."
