From the Obsidian Room — an immersive piece where words dissolve into moving light.
Two slipping back to that moment together. Time halts, forgetting even the rings of years — a piece that binds two who face each other into a picture scroll.
Not looking where everyone else looks. Away from the town, rightward and on — a piece that walks on, believing Eden lies ahead.
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.
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.
Past a field strewn with rocks, grass and knives, a child seen from behind gazes up at the dragon orb at the summit — seizing it precisely because he wants none. A cinematic poem of rising to overthrow.
On a hill where the sunset shows, even the blooming words are lovely, yet the sky is hazy. Will it rain, will the moon rise — a cinematic poem of words with nowhere to go.
Because it was you, I turned toward you. Smitten to the core by the words seared into my mind, I want to keep gazing up at your back — a cinematic poem set among deep crimson roses.
With its great body it swims on, the promised catch upon its head, careful not to drop the golden egg — waiting from afar for the day to sow seeds again. A cinematic poem of a whale in the deep sea.