by
Vladimir & Klaud Mokolokov
Red clouds swirl above us like a flame
A mercenary approaches quickly
from the violet hills.
Even as he flees,
he turns to see the quagmire chase him
Into the sanctuary.
A chain snaps noisily,
but no one hears...
The enthralled eyes of a mystic
roll back in fear
Anticipating paper feelings from the wind.
No one comes to hear the cracking of the dawn
And forever tempers furtive hope of Calliope.