The purple channels flowing down
edges of dreams, these frozen hours
captured behind the nocturnal lens.
You, stalking among the river lacings’
drowning in torpor, inside the
forest’s dampling and engorged
This blood that flows from sacrificial nights,
these, the edges of dreams, these frozen hours
lived behind the lightened lens of God’s eye.
There, the trancing of the empyrean river,
in the forest of wetting memories’ filling
ethers of the heavens, we would still
feel the excited fluttering beneath our eyelids
This dream had to end.
Don’t think I didn’t know
about the tears