Fate of love and its corresponding time frame left asunder,
so the spikes of benevolent attention,
so the malice of brute silence.
Only already-crossed points of no return
scream their love notes in the thick, damp, and wet forest.

Dark silk-spinner is the one we blame for all things undesirable to us,
we blame him for all things that scare us.
We ourselves knit the story of unjust occurrences to catch the orb-weaver
and prove he’s the villain,
knight of hell,
where dark fumes are condensed—
malice, blind and prickly malice.

We will blindly call the clearest river ugly, gasoline-rotten,
just to save our eyes
from seeing life in truth.