I could speak in the tongues of men or angels
but do not have love
so I’ve a voice unfrequent,
low and lacking form, the colder undercurrents
particles diffused unrecognized into dark
syllable vibrations fallen dead in the air
dark things in black waves with sadness in their hands
their weight too much, their form too great, too awful
to leave the vast, the silence
to be understood

couldn’t say, couldn’t tell
I turned, you were not at my side
turned, I was alone

quiet quiet
twisted tortured by a dark thing anguish
midnight in an empty lay, colder than the ground and felled
smoke between my dragon lips I suffocate
the earth’s last forrest burns to the ground inside my chest,
I beg, at last
I break