I am listening for a sound beyond sound that stalks the nightland of my dreams, entering rooms of fossil-light so ancient they are swarmed by truth.
I am listening for a sound beyond us that travels the spine's invisible ladder to the orphic library. Where rebel books revel in the unremitting light. Printed in gray, tiny words with quicksand depth embroidered with such care they render spirit a ghost, and God, a telescope turned backwards upon itself dreaming us awake.