There is nothing to conquest in this sky,
and not theirs or ours
if it is cut enough to be your roof,
tight as mist around,
transpires to shed inhibition,
completely takes in its horizon,
dark and darkest burning misery and tears,
that there is no fear
of losing the Earth beneath
not adopting your dream feathers
always insistent on, rather camouflages well
with each hill task into desire,
with this will
far have you become free,
free of everything.
Pix from Net.