Oh oh oh, into air recoils that one light
It is the idol’s eye
It is the wailing crown
This is a drawing to celebrate the self
and celebrate no pity,
no pity for the tame.
This is a drawing to summon no delay:
in finding Mist we try to sing,
in the cauldron of that lost tear.
We are finding hope incarnate in the loss of memory,
the lapse of edict,
and edifice of smoke,
a ladder of thorn.
In the void of the lacunae,
Down here a fire burns.
