Listen: how quiet’s Deep Creek! The leaves do only dare to speak! I swear that even Death’s asleep! The stars felt in the lake: a heap of lights on Deep Creek icy cheek. The fear travelled at a creep. From memory I could not sweep this moment that I’d like to keep, when all the leaves do dare to speak.
Not many desires, but one: open my eyes and see you come and shoot you with a quaker gun. My soul is ready then to leaven. I’d swear that I arrived in heaven on Lake Shore Drive, 2007.
The dead body of fear pecked by a raven.