Let's assume a painting like a window.
Unlike doors, windows do not communicate.
It just stares and guesses.
Something moves inside the dusty window
that has long been neglected.
To find a secret, you put your cheek closely
on the murky wall.
You gently stroke, crack by scratching wound,
and lick it. Gold colored tiny dots are seen
through the window made of soil.
The dots are flickering.
They are repeatedly dotted. These dots move with
reasoning and circumstances.
As if their movements are inscribed,
the dots make a clear line and disperse.
Another movement appears and then disappears.
This trajectory is not a certain present view with any
circumstances but a mood that cannot be captured
but disperse. Every trajectory has been chased,
and its shadow is engraved and expressed in layers.