The birds sway

The first strangers. The birds sway. But loneliness threatens. It does not go around the bush. Nor do they touch the air with their toes. Park benches swing in mirror. And the gardens. And the sources. And the trees. Walkers are fascinated by the shoes. The dancing images are reflected in them. Fair is made in the tumult. Never sad in mirrors. Well, lacking in sadness, they themselves dance.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypothesis / thesis.