name

Name it.
Name this thing that is all teeth, and rain. Chill.
How about a phantom? Locate the crypt, looping images. The dead, the dead. Back and back again, the source of a mania to come.
There is a sound coming through the receiver, but interference.
We can sense a Crossing, a seance with something beyond our knowledge, beyond the edge of image.
Describe, transcribe, translate; seek a fidelity. The sound, the sound. An esoteric language, translated into something otherworldly, a tongue more foreign, a voice of the dead.

Frequency. A repeating, a tuning, the tightening of a piano string, the dash of a chisel across stone. The sound, the image, lost to time, frozen in a motionless posterity. A voice, lost to time, a rigor mortis. A traitor, betrayed by time, betraying for a future generation.