with each breath the forest remembers in algorithm: leaves that hang free=0 leaves that fall=1
we wake only to rush off into the madness and forget that dreams are our source of power
at dawn the field hums almost pretentiously with tiny miracles and lowkey magic
winter the room softens to accommodate uncertainty
when you notice the dragon’s silence: run
for a moment cold waves hesitate before touching the shoreline
by the hour thoughts soften and the world becomes a playground for tyrants
the slow thaw of limbs in blue hour
slow steady beat of the drum night and animal instincts rises to the surface
what little light i get i carry safe and far from the grasp of winter dark
elancharan gunasekaran 