They are both voice and sentinel
Warnings of another different world
Breathing wind and fire

Like old Gods they sit waiting
For a voice a murmur

And it comes
Like a Bartok string quartet

And it's real like blood
Like flesh cut and you hear
the whisper, past present future
Because it belongs only to that moment
only to that sliver of time

And you are the victim
The one twitching and uncomfortable
In the human shell jabbering nonsense
But listening to voices

The line, the line the line
And color
And our mortality
And all the beauty.