in this
our first
winter
when our
letters
turn toward
days
and years

a
muttered blissful
reign

bound by
lazy cursive

and the blood
of saints
asleep

unborn

fed to beasts
who sink like
thorns

in the fleshy sides of
remembrance

to rest

softly

resolved

to erase

this
burden

born
deep
in velvet
arms

which span
the ever-narrowing

delicate
eternal

Beneath the smoke
a blue-black line of
fear

Pale with a sickness
lit by your creased blade
I measure
My sleeplessness
in
illusory
inexact
dimensions
of
fading light
the

suppressed loss
of that in which
existence
ceases
its

immortal

unspoken promise

i.

above leaves black the
days a tired agony outlined in
ash swallowed by black
seas cold night a warmth of
sorrow eyes settle on the
void
blood warm heart hums
untouched
unrealized the
dream’s end affixed with
lost knowledge beyond emptiness a
dark wind winds through mind afire
rope of
dawn buried yet resolute
shuttered twilight
soft, illusory
time wanes, dark and shadowed,
at last these moments revealed

ii.

dark and full of no light this
dream persists
voices clatter break the limbs
set fire to blood
steps lead into visions
languid and serene
to sleep
to drift
forever
in seas of flesh
crippled sun
throat of nervousness
farther apart
we grow
the blame is mine
the hour is late
crimson skies early
foretold this solemn doom
dead moon
rising warm
wings of sparrows light the
spinning sun sick with
joy
the words spiral and sing