The immeasurable depth of Being sustains our lament.
The divine radiance is extinguished;
the gods have turned their backs.

All earthly abodes found destitute, unhealing
in the dim twilight of history's
unfolding of the Logos.

And we are left hanging in
the age of the world's dark night.
Long is the turning this side of the abyss.

The remoteness of the Holy discloses its presence;
fugitive gods made manifest
in the acts of godless men.

The inner recalling of those who are most daring
summons forth the surpassing,
an openness to the ineffable.

And in their nameless sorrow all is preserved.