Asleep for 11. A wandering palace. Every soul a cloud But there's a cloudless sky As the horizon of the past comes forth And none other than the relatives who were wiped from the pages, Set into gaves, Or remembered for generations. Known and unknown but all surprise. Behind: nothing. Below: nothing. Above: just sky Vast and empty. Atop sad faces. Sad, pained faces Spoken clear words are unheard of and time becomes unknown. Never a friend or unrelated soul, Just blood and names Until the 11 years pass and voices become distinct, Faces unblur Grapes unpeel themselves And the date returns its name. Theyβll ask for identification But the thoughts are crumpled and the walls are tilting and the voice had forgotten the sound of itself after 11. Long. Years.