Nothing but your hands, blue flames, the signature of night. Something that the ocean and you can afford... the way a poem breaks on several waves. entire gardens bend to such a passing dawn finds an answer to questions like your eyes and the leaves bleed violets on the toes of someone far away. From the island of a footprint they imagine the coasts of undiscovered countries. I want to depend on their pale beaches, those who travel upon them become light. And those with the history of longing in their voices, they are like the sighs of someone far away.