I can not feel her voice I am too far away skiing in Austria.
Perhaps I will go to another country disguised as frozen gas
And travel beneath her skirt into the center of the earth.
I have an air bubble in my ear that needs light.
It is yellow as I slip over the lintel to correct the sun.

Here is a white charm. My hand can not hold it.
The stars are lost and the birds have absorbed the wind.
It doesn't matter I am going mad listening to the noises—