Buzzing pterodactyls, and the final fire. It feel good to whisper, and to swing up high. A hand-make bottle broken, a flood of empty snails. Saw the moon is shifting, northern star it hides. Sit upon the lines, middle of the road at night. Quiet quiet silence, and the buzzing light. Breath. I am social creatures, giants wandering in the woods. Giant pigeons, quiet painful eye-lids. Cross legged, one foot bouncing to a beat. Without a camera, time to precious to record. Best left behind, better to absorb. The dark air is meant to fill the caverns, the dreams, a movie to sleep.