coming from somewhere
leading somewhere,
leading over my paintings,
shortly brought into view
at the point,
that was just touched by my hand,
floating free,
not stopped by myself.
tracks,
leading towards me,
for a moment
and then
away they are.
tracks,
here, there,
covering me
like shadows.
heavy tracks,
light tracks,
old cuts,
brought from far away.
silent victories
inside myself.
lines of silent views
lied over me widely,
holding
netcards
held
laid out
moldering
and far.
containing
round in time
in full sound of not me.
tracks,
animal fine
and
always
and
nothing.