• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 03
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It`s only in the blue that I can hear you,
tissue thin, harmonic chords, angels wings,
It`s only in the blue that white can breathe,
like pushing the sail boat out for the first time
on the lake, we all know those whispers.

It`s only on a backdrop of blue that it can float,
forming and un-forming itself, the white fluff of thought,
as if blue the actual colour has nothing to say
about the ethereal existence of something so very soft.

It`s blue and white, or is it white and blue,
ghosts would know, would feel the substance
the creases so impermanent, would you hear them
each whisper of the coming, the aliveness of it all.