Hush, soft as snow on my cool cheek, as night

Gentles our sharp eyes with a veil of cloth.

For whom the bell tolls, call out your old fright

So all may hear: be drawn helpless
as moths

On into the bright mirror reflecting.

Our thin mercy which you could do without

Breaks rather than heals, chilly directing

Your heart to leap, your voice to scream, to shout.

With the visages of predators, we

Saw them fall into their rightfully earned

Oblivion, as tribute by decree;

And you crave fire by which you were burned,

But the new-minted shine of sun will light

You up just the same, survivor (of night).