Incarnate restlessness. Flight party. Tendency of the hands, those flames of the body. I was looking at you at dawn, at dawn. Lost floating what sounds there. While it rains the water sounds as night falls, it is read. The days come and they are read. With the wings and the eyes closed the flight is read. That's your way of keeping me quiet. Thick silence cast into the wet jaws of dogs, aux gueule of furious beasts, in the confusion of hunger they tremble like raindrops falling on the harsh air.

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