There is dusk
twisted

and circling
through the air,

as western mountains
devoured a Sol,

boiling blood:
impure, but thick with hopes.

Singing dog songs upwards:
the unrequited lunatic.

Pulled to you
like a current,

coming close
but never touching;

(i ache like the sea.)
or heavy stones sinking-

Find me, i'm Septentrio
and you're Eurynome:

and what was waiting to hatch,
has already been born.

Carving up Chaos,
to make my home.