That day arrives, where space and time and day and night come to converge, where his breath with the wind does thrive, purpose from meaning do part, and like light back through the prism, so do they all merge… on and forth through the night’s wayward mist, back and through to the path of his amiss. Thus night becomes as even as the day, shadows reflect upon the bare earth whilst stalking their prey. But no… that lunar sphere does not so permit, as the winds whispered to them all, streaking over their faces as smooth as velvet. Distant voices were calling, crawling from the chasm, five minutes nearer, love not war, chaste, not whore, calm and content at the visage in that mirror. Shock and awe, for there was no longer that torment… the light in the sky, no longer waving goodbye – everything to its most profound bent – sorrow foregone, the will to move on… beyond the fall, and as always – without a trace. The shadows were long forgotten, the fool no longer besotten… but right there, in that place, right there beside you. Imagine all of it – imagine the surprise, thinking they could berate his swoon, thinking they could gouge out those crystalline eyes. Instead they ran, and flew way too close to the sun, unaware that they were never the only ones. So it went on this pale night of orange and blue, and so it goes – lunar wax, lunar wane … the rhythm of time and season – light and shade again balanced and even, without highs and without lows.