The blood, the bone,
That Universe of home.
The drying bed, the empty husk.
Dreams that smell of deepest dusk.
Fallen snow, a final toll.
Shed not the spark -- retreat, still whole.

Water filled with thunder,
The Lightning strike's embrace,
The swaying reed's drowned hunger,
A dark and silent place.

A sky of silenced gray,
A moon of milky white,
No longer do they speak,
In this the darkest night.