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.
They’ll 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.
