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Yes, there were gorgons
and they were fierce
and walked behind the unseeing wanderer, the lost one.

And shadows of voice came in and out of existence
and the lost one reached out
touch, voice, soul, hope and desperation, craving for company.

Heavy thuds and the lingering question:
what is this, why is this?
can never there be a touch upon my shoulder, quiet in my soul?

And the shadows of voice were left behind,
stilled,
and the road was made, by one and three, a garden of statues

the bait, unknowing
the huntresses, goading
and a trail of cold solitude soon to be forgotten in the grand scheme of things.