I will spend my last hours dreaming
Of death, I’d be given to the wolves,
Ripped asunder, pieced back together,
Bonded whole, by the dark, the
Insatiable, and implacable shadows.
Through fog and in Twilight,
Senses erect, time stops. Slowly
Regaining fervor; I’d count each
Ray of moonlight, in their slothful
Descents’, nimbly intersecting through
Crowds of dust, unbarred by gravity
Necessity, and bitter longings.
How I wish to be as they are.
Pure. Infinite. Hallowed by mere
Existence, no choice, without regret,
Unable —- to stray. To be lost.