Sense Hedges

Seeking a shred of purpose to pass the remaining time or play with dark spots and flashes of thunder and dreams of vespers? Tenderly rummaging through memories of bones and promises of fragile enchantments. Who awaits us in the elder's shadow? Who awaits us, winged spirits with swollen faces after we have consumed the last refuge of weary scribblers? Once upon a time there was a wise seeker of sincere glances, who eavesdropped on the wind, trail of voices of sleepless bankers and spied the metal-coloured auroras, to unearth the treasures of the caravans of eager young people, never attentive to the fate of the objects of memory. He found no joy, but fell asleep on the bankers' doorstep with the complicit gaze of the young