Then the mountains fell silent. Leafless shrubs on them pretended they did not exist, waiting for the mountain’s endorsement of their terrestrial existence.
Night’s silences broke through stacks of brown mountains The wind blew in their faces, as if it was flowing water and the monsoon had arrived. The fact is that the monsoon has already come and gone.
There was no water flowing only hot brown sandy spaces with the west wind whirling in it. The cloud that would bring water has already come and gone and there would never be water ,only blood from recent wounds.
After they have come and gone there will be large circular holes. You stand on their rims guessing where their inky darkness ended.
The Morning is Just a Dream 