…as one of us did slip the bonds of time
that tie us each like branches to the trunk
of some o’er-arching fundamental tree,
to crash and fall upon the forest floor
of this forever-hid reality.

STAGE DIRECTION:
a small human doffs a cloak.
the cloak is grey.
you know that this FIGURE
is a traveller;
you have always known this.

PLEASE DO THIS NOW:
SAY HELLO.