bell-heavy
the loon sounds its
fixed, inborn sorrow

in the wharves aswarm
with will and willow

where the darkened
waters wake from
their black stupor

breathe the waterlogged
gods, bloodless and
full of dread

so yawns the abyss,
huge and indifferent

you are who stand alone
in the stain of night

amidst the star-noise
and silver-fickle-axe
of moon

have dismantled
the soul

who grieves her

the hunt is lost
I lay the black bow down