From the Obsidian Room — an immersive piece where words dissolve into moving light.
On an abandoned line at midnight, your red and my blue entwine in the violet smoke. At the blink of an eye the view snaps shut — where are you? A cinematic poem of a late-night-radio darkness.
On the scorching park bench, you are gone. In the broken glass, my own eyes — so lonely. A cinematic poem of a melting moon, a glass heart, and a garden of oblivion.
A single string snaps back against the finger; the same tone can never sound again. Like a eulogy sending you off, the severed string trembles — a cinematic poem of a quiet mourning night.
Beyond narrowed eyes, the reflection of a crimson cheek floats in the dark. A cinematic poem of pale-blue foxfire on a galactic night.
At the click of a shutter, the night's lights bloom in my eyes. A turning vortex of fortune, a great opened hole pulling us in — a cinematic poem of a ferris wheel at night.
I hid myself in a pitch-black moon, and let even the sun behind me sink into the sea. What I named the moon and loved was, in truth, the sun — a cinematic poem on a total lunar eclipse.
After everyone slipped across time and space into the world of dreams, I alone was left on a different star. Knowing the strength of the light, I learn the dark of night for the first time — a cinematic poem of solitude in the deep cosmos.
I wept as if time had stopped. But you are here, on this land. Little by little, so that I can stand upon this soil — so that I won't cry. A cinematic poem set on the earth at dawn.
Marveling at a rare tale, you fall silent before the rest — with eyes that seem to entrust it. So, I am next. A cinematic poem of an empty vessel waiting to be filled.