Unfolded sail dreams disturbed the air, rippling in poetics, the lightest of sails; prismatic at best, graceful at least, but no wings are needed for him in this space.
"Will I endure another Winter post this?" he once dreamt. "Will the warmth ever fade or free me from fortresses, never feigned or fallowed, or will I remain the indomitable inmate incarcerate; alive in captivity; forever infallible?"
Aloft in the aether, the feather of fortune, floats downward in zig-zagging arcs. The afterglow & strobe, and the bronze sky beseeched, in a wand of forgiveness, with trees matching hue; and none the same, every single dream came, with a folded crane companion of true.
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