Through the mist today in sun
Was born of chaos, dead
At morning nightfall,
Gray as a tent.

While the soul descends
Melancholy across memories
Like a thin dust
Of sparks and glitter,

Over books
With stale musk smell,
Leaves decayed
At the backs of drawers,

The clock, rain behind,
Beating with heart's pulse,
Seconds dead in flocks
Tick endlessly by.

And what quiet falls!
And how the soul is heard
Shaking wet wings
Across eternal hoarfrosts!

Within my loneliness
I breathe time
Which knows what I do not,
And across unraveled eras
I make a sign with my pen and write.