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at the other side of river are the stolen roots of healing-moon-giving trees left by wayward wind. my skin whispers— wind is traversing to reach the corn field of druid for another robbery; that it’s a good chance for me to be a thief and rejuvenate my lacerations-covered heart. without blinking, i jump from bank to stepping stone to stepping stone to stepping stone. [if i leave a stone unturned, stone wouldn’t wait to haunt me like guilty for( long/ ever) ] another jump— my right foot on the old stepping stone and i am river’s sensuality. i am wet, wet as mad hen, wet as mad hen. wetness adds to the weight. i am heavy. my body is a loaded chariot without horses and charioteer. /* blindfolded blindfaith */