To climb towards the needle precedes the descent into the abyss the wise collar of the bearded man of oblivion one hand bend my blossoming soul on the windowsill elk sign footsteps in the snow to watch themselves undress the branches of their honey muff slow but still audible fall tiny smiles dusting each other arm outstretched towards the horizon what does evening call the line of light announcing under the door the return of the birds to their nocturnal niche.
