Within the lost, the glacier of observation
between times that take or tame us.
Blindly carve the sun into earth,
follow this marbled path down into the river
to forest fires built by Gods.
Prophesize me in amnesia, and grace in the falling way,
we link fingers and palms and tongues and liver
to herald the coming of the dawn
after nights so long.
My name isn't one for your tongue,
silence calls me hitherto
in efficiency faster than prayer.
I am sorrowful that I cannot stay for long,
but I must away with the dark
as she moves like a tide