To the dusk alone there is the twilight

streaks of the last gloam waver

stretching furs, scratching at each bodily pore

upon the witching-hour

sheaved scarlet shadow on iris, rutilant

burning and burning it departs the heart

scald and cauma it reaches the rest, devoid of sleep at dark

awaken from lucid mizzle, so dense it holds the night at mist

but wide-awaken the one hunkers, tearing, punching,

squashing droplets into the flat vocal cord

sooty crows call by dead-of-night

The tremble a thwack to azure ether

Lifting a corner, by whose scuttle skew shrills enter through

As arrows pin into the mellow maelstorm, admixing the paste

Waves, waves that expand the heavy night

Twilight floods the dawn

As ebony feathers dissipating in flares

their last flight drowned

condensing in glaring fire, flames a blast

And at the infant crimson day

Seeds of which flesh do drip

under the sky the same as all

no roars, no screeches, tinfoil torn in vain

Breeze sizzles

papers lost in possession

amidst the night summer winds

To forget