I am an embryo carried in arcs within the invisible moon’s nascent belly. The night rings me like the churchbell assembled by ghosts. Where have the stars hidden the blindness of my living eyes? My mind is snow, falling into eternal waters in silent darkness. Surely you can understand that these lips must know their mate, must be foretold like some celestial child born of riddles. My dreams wrench themselves from the prison of mortal pleasures, demanding to be fulfilled in their native constellations of divine disappearance.