Darkness blooms in the uncertain scleric glow.
A margination of corners.
Help me, but do not help me.
I have gotten on this way, long enough.
Succumbed, in a quiet way, I have been
to the dim light of her house.
A way of not being what is.
I have forgotten how to long to speak.
Willow becomes the white muse.
Not humming. Not a movement that moves.
Just calculated earth pale and glowing
in the salutation of godresin.
One quiet, reigning day