He hangs midair like a ghost,hovering amongst labyrinthine structures.
His secret, the unseen movement of a great wind.
He disturbs not the waters.
His deep understanding of that element allows it.
The force of his drive and the weight of history
strain the balance that holds him aloft,
but he us given over to the gold of his intentions:
the future is ever his goal.
The present is but an incidence.
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