I fell deep into the horse’s fountain and got yellow stains on fingers and small clothes of elvish green,
it’s time to run again in fields of thoughts that gather up like white clouds only to dismantle,
cars and trains and motors can’t sustain my thirst of wonder and only fuel the frequency of dreams,
and 260 miles are never ever far enough to lose myself into that great cold blue…
I squeeze the air and call for wolves to run my sleigh over all these troubled waters that remain untouched,
where do I gather up the wood for fire for the upcoming winter and where will I stop to make a fire?
miles and miles they asked me yesterday to crawl, to forget the ash of letters and the face of ink,
but memories are lighthouse to the sin and innocence may be a foreign traveler never to return,
I will give them something to remember, flash and blood and poetry on stair steps of stone,
and in the size of all things that still matter I will lock it with a question in a prison they’ve not seen,
miles and miles into the great deep blue, where will I gather all that wood and where will I start that fire?