Set aside the buried light
Of candle, torch, and rotting wood
And listen to the turn of night
Caught in your rising blood.
How quiet is the midnight, love,
How warm the winds where ravens fly,
Where all the changing moonlight, love,
Pales in your fading eye.
How loud your heart is calling, love,
How closed the darkness at your breast.
How hectic are the rivers, love.
Drawn through your dying wrist.
And love, what heat your frail skin hides,
As pure as salt, as sweet as death,
And in the dark the red moon rides
The foxfire of your breath.