This Shroud of velvet roses, blooms completes the sound and crescendos before noon the older threads, reach out to desert air through dust, they flail and are ensnared This ancient light reflects the glassy sky in return is seen the golden snake out from it’s mouth pour dreams of silenced songs this shroud is only what may come for all is known are dried up yesterdays meadows out the windows warm the scene as the wind goes mad The Sun, silent, shimmering; fades and every beam that beats the cloth is vague as silver smoke creates a ladder to the sky from the hood, are slow and moving ghosts one by one, they return to the host is it real? As the shroud begins to slip what is seen begins to fade away the sky reflects the mind and the sand begins to clear the day without hesitation flies the summer’s sweet sensation the unveiling of the end