From the Obsidian Room — an immersive piece where words dissolve into moving light.
Glance up, and there remains a fragment of you. Still there, after all. The etched stain — out of reach, soon forgotten — yet it never fades. A cinematic poem seeping across the ceiling.
At the edge seat of the classroom, wishing to go unnoticed like a tanuki tucked in a thicket — the blackboard now and then, sharpening a pencil, gazing far, doodling on the desk. A cinematic poem that melts into the woods.
Two utterly different souls, meeting across centuries — it can only be called destiny. Yet to speak it would end it. A cinematic poem of a feeling kept secret.
Beneath the beautiful words, the wellspring of effort seeps through — each single line drawn with the whole of one's center. A cinematic poem where color takes you by the hand.
The soundless piano room was a hideout for two. Slipping away from the banquet, knees hugged in silence — a cinematic poem of two accomplices.
Sake snack in hand, laughing big, swinging the blade through without looking. Not flawless — that broad, bold hero — a cinematic poem of a warrior beneath the moon.
Cheeks stuffed with treasure, kicking off the ground and running with all his heart. Dead last, yet that is its own charm — a cinematic poem of a cracked pomegranate and its ruby seeds.
A figure gallops through the forest on horseback, a head in hand — whose face today? — as the audience watches, breath held. A cinematic poem.
Eyes swim where they hang from the ceiling; mannequins and posters glisten. Knowing all of it is hollow, still the glaze beckons to be touched — a piece of inverted artifice.