A shattered wing (of glass)
that never flew
and does not whisper to (or in) the wind
The ice-touched bird lent snow to branches
which wept songs that sang their sorrows
across the promised land
We drank the truths none dared to tell
(We didn't understand)
and dared to breathe the midnight waters
(the well was cold, our senses left)
Not night, but death;
our dying
breath