A saw cuts through the night, a faint blue glow along the blades.
The mist, a band of shadow, tries to blind the mountain and fails.
The sky ripples with cold waves, liquid memory of an ancient ocean.
Hadeïdon advances here with snowy steps: a voiceless verdict, clarity without warmth.
Each peak is a lily of frost, each valley an inkwell for the night.
The world stands tall, austere, under the icy oath of the horizon.
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Reproductions, Impressions sur toile, Impression sur métal