Big fragile boxes –
Some full of bones.
Floating boxes flying boxes,
A universe of boxes shooting out in every direction
Like a thousand open looks.
The breeze is up from Hades tonight,
And seeps a cold dispassion.
Across the planet surface winds swirl,
Amidst the dry leaves and frosts.
My ears are mourning flutes.
(C) Tobeimean Peter 2011