**Time**

I

The secret Creaking of hips while journeying Faces of sand wrapped in thick cloaks Dates from the Hereafter sealed in the far end of fruit A glimpse of something

A blink of an eye Then resurrection Things they see with their eyes shut Things they may recognise with their senses and Edges The severity of sleep As they hallucinate Then an awakening It is the time of the tree of the unexpected Befalling them Stomping on arid routes like a raging beast Ravaging the thing guarding all things In a pale of doubts and amulets It is far Farther than the stitch of sound to itself

Is it not, then, the creation of farness?
