“The cousins leave, their laughter and cries do too
Upon that hour when sky’s flame
Is fell from up high

The water stops, the winds halt
Maybe even the blood stands too, still
For nothing moves, nothing’s awake at this hour

Minds and souls roam, free
Away from the heads plastered close to earth
Dreaming dreams, of planets, moons and else

Partaking, all in the blackness’s ritual
So dark, even the puppets of evil are tempted to lie still
All Men sleep, nothing’s awake at this hour –

Except me,
And the hand
From which this poem is borne.”