The moon will get more blurred, not lessAnd more and more I'll look in vain
Old errors lose their lines and shapesLeave flashes, not whole cycles
There are peaks
I see how all is blending thickMixing, slurring, soup-of-lifeing
Is it done yet?
Is it right?
I stir, I eat, I look, I sleepI dream of moons that fill the sky
Rachel Fox, Scotland