She stands there
Her finger touches my skin and it makes a deep line
The line spreads to sides...It oozes...Slowly...Where ever it can go
It disappears in yards and miles of moving stones, and fast galloping horses
Inside of the walls of solitude of one hundred years there are cracks reserved for ants
The dog by the wall is looking for hungry food
How close can it come?
Without the world feeling threatened or insane