Traces of the holes of pain

 Traces of the holes of pain. And your answer, sounding like nature, covered them. Your voice resounded in the wood of my soul like a fluttering waterfall of birds. Behind a cave shelter. Where the sheltered nests warm the damp walls. Ocean of solitude. That shelter under the mountain. That nerve of the immense weight of the rock.

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