Ten steps east, one north.

What is there to write, when there’s nothing left?

Just an ordinary ticking, just a point of reference on a hidden map somewhere amidst the universe. Came and went altogether. No gain, no loss. Solely the rhythmic convulsions of muscles straining tendons, reaching higher, breaking through sweet skin, up, up, blue bottoms of oceans, translucent pearls in indigo coats, lighter in gait and blush, vertical transcendence, a boxer in the ring standing still, beams from above shattering the surface; in time-lapse coming up for air.

Penetrate truth, divide all, a sword arrested in mid-air – the same substance in every direction, always silence.