Village in the Trees

Absence doesn''t frighten me, but its furrows. I grew old, and my burden is waiting for someone to slap the palms of tranquility. The hidden histories of absence coalesce within me. This is a time when vain flows and the stranger in a strange land is mocked. This is a time when one flees into panting, and people are bewildered by the wiles from which time''s necks droop. Whoever frames this descen...