Torn, alone, a fire within silence, a shivercrack of longing tracing truth’s passage through catastrophe. The stars fall into my mouth, swallow my fever’s dream. This timid soul shatters, spewing birds and monkeys, puzzles and names.

Here, amongst the circle of unknown bards long dead, my bones are kindling; the skeleton of heaven’s tree in purest disarray. Time sparks and sputters until my remnants catch the flame. This moon favors the fertile wreck of all my hopes.

The spirits take my tongue in turns, spinning, dancing, whispering subtle overtures like white volcanoes smouldering their homilies; we burn and try this endless distance of abandonment and mortal scorn.