I throw out

these thin

weighted lines

~

every now

~

and than

I hope to find

a depth

that tells me

if I am climbing up

or down

I see trough

or around

what you are made off

A perfect sphere

underneath

the clouds

~

where silence

has a last word

and we listen

I see

these links that formed

illusive at first

through the blinders

~

but look

lean back

and the road followed

is clear