It occurs to me that something new can be unforeseen…
Invisible space stretched out, unfolded and naked.
Whispers of wine and confetti – forlorn, bereft and beneath –
A citadel of sightlessness…provocative nascence.
Is my story the game? “No” says the real.
For seasons do turn and eerie consciences beg for the dance.
But who will take the lead when blindness prevails?
The stumble is light to the gait of the serene!