Night, night, night. And the shadows

That wane talk to us. The music rounds

Up, exempt from history. It’s an endless

Canceling out of divinity, ready to speak

Again, saying, I am here. I’d call it endless,

Endless. What is stripped of its mortality

Goes on like a soldier to war. But we can’t

Do that, not really. Instead, we balance

On the head of a pin with the angels. I’ve

Spent hours lettering the borders of this

World. My cohorts, I don’t believe the laments

About leaving our lives, but I do believe it

That there is elegy, as green as grass. Nothing’s

Touching me anymore, and the spring rain Is peace.