The stairs curl up
as I roll down my sleeves
and the way, the dsitance,
between the two ends
grows smaller,
and the look on my face
must have caused the ravens
to leave the darkness in here;
and I do not grieve
for they never belonged
to this house.

All work has been done,
and the traces of ink on the floor -
and of blood on my hands -
only helps joining the two ends
ending up with one.

Look what we've done,
I would say,
and let's get out, quick.
And the last ray of darkness
makes way for the light
as I slip
through the door.