Still the fields are in motion
Not as pictures but as time
Hunting the white plague
In the absence of my body

I watch myself drown
in the blue aura
Of mine and I see
The swans leave the pond

But still the words circle
Around my head like flies

The gnashing marble teeth
Were disturbing my slumber
And there I was in the middle
Of a game called chess
But my vagabond initiated the process

Yet the fields are in motion
Not as time but as clouds

To be continued...