the green is coming. gently, joyously parting the ancient and mysterious skin. before our eyes, beneath our feet, it's all handed to us on a plate. the concept of edges, as always, solid and imperceptible. i march into the sun, vow to bury a piece of my heart in each of your bones, to be the idea, that about which you wonder. tonight, a silent passage home. the sun throws shadows long on the ground and it seems to me that love blooms on broken stones. they, which is it, sit crossed legged with worlds strapped to their backs. gold mines shine behind the cracks in their sternums.