He watches the moon and feels the blood rushing through his head.
It starts, an explosion of causality.
No way back on this merciless expedition.
Only the destination keeps its value.
A breeze comes up from the east, invisible tongues lick his face. It turns to night. The sand underneath his naked feet has lost all previous warmth. The chill tickles. Seconds succumb in symbiosis.
The marram grass rustles against his arms, the warning of a friend.
He feels the fire of candles burning in his bowels.
Feeling comes. No escape.
Surrender the only art.
There is light.
From inside out.
Something fluttering in earliness.
Reverberated and repeated endlessly.
The lonely game of gods.
Consciousness.
Light. From inside out.