I set out on a journey where the roads
are closed. There is no transportation,
just the caw of the crow over a land
of golden frost, stripped back
to the bare crystals of sunshine melting.
I have lost my footsteps in translation.
You will not read this code for how the sky
is a page of paths winding their trails
of ink across the sky. I have never asked
to be saved. I have more courage
than you give me credit for. I am travelling
in the hinterland of my imagination.
That secret weapon of northern lights,
the trans Siberian railway. I have packed
just the one hospital bag. I move on alone
wearing my mask into this moon soaked night.