Ukryte

Compressed between the barriers of shots, there lies an alliterative rhythm. It rushes and shortens, it hides and reveals. Like a palm, it opens and closes. Like a poem, it waltzes in thousands of inaudible steps. Like a weaving, its calculated movement interlaces light with its absence. Like an orchestra, its heart sinks for a moment, then quakes again, subservient to a mighty man.