I have a place kept locked; where your shadow contains my hidden movements. Unknown to you, I rest there, waiting, perhaps playing in the anticipation of un-concealment. I'm hoping you sense the activity of wonder through the tone of my voice when I'm speaking of all the things you hold dear - the things I'm hoping will be in your power to destroy. Slowly the clockwork ticks into resolve, directing the cogs in new alignment, ticking down the hierarchy between me and you. But soon.. That bastard, that bastard! The wilderness- that breathing, dreaming one keeps traces of me in laughter, love, hate, and always, always, repeating. Repetition - that blasted relief. The dark spot, the one held for me, no longer holds your comforts. All has left, as was expected. But what has been kept? Deep, beautiful becoming. For what you were unaware was a signing of a contract to make you not a person but a process, in flux.