- take breath amidst the ebony vestiges,
- the resonate whisperings of the fallen ones,
- for their marbled madness lingers anew
- in the charcoaled veins of slick-grained shadows.
- speak in that hidden language of the ghosts—
- through the echoings of their empty-minded spirits—
- to spur bright rebirth in their aching limbs
- as the blooming twigs spread in white fullness.
- know that no words are too melancholic
- for the pitying resin of blackwood poison,
- that star-fanged salvation of quaint suicides
- before their gentle undoing of soulful being:
- its subtle darkness pricks silver redemption
- in the dejected sinews of these forgotten masters.