His eyes cut through the stained glass, A map of frost and forgotten nights, Silent highways etched on his face— No place to arrive, no time to leave.
Metal hums like a caged beast, Wrapped in the fur of empty winters. The steering wheel clenched, Knuckles pale as the distant moon.
Through cracked reflections, A ghost stares back— Wolf, man, machine— None of them moving, All of them lost.
| Artwork | Price | From | To | Time |
|---|
