The Answer
The arrow sang through satin sky
to wrest a girl from grasping night.
A breath, a rush: no rusting lie
lives here. Her lungs eat cleaner light.
Half dead, we shock. Our spoken dart
sparked fire, charmed a wider will;
yet still, we stare. What dangerous art:
our dreaming drew this daffodil.
She found a hunt beneath her skin
that moaned for sky and shuttered scorn.
The night sent stars, but their glass grin
grew cold, and wore no bloody thorns,
no eyes. She listened. What strange air
was shifting organs, marking tombs?
When death collapsed, her need fell bare
and filled her body's ravaged room.
We do not stand, but bow. In this,
the stillest stone became a sail.
We wake, we walk; we watch her kiss
the sun. We hold a trembling tale.
The arrow sang through satin sky
to wrest a girl from grasping night.
A breath, a rush: no rusting lie
lives here. Her lungs eat cleaner light.
Half dead, we shock. Our spoken dart
sparked fire, charmed a wider will;
yet still, we stare. What dangerous art:
our dreaming drew this daffodil.
She found a hunt beneath her skin
that moaned for sky and shuttered scorn.
The night sent stars, but their glass grin
grew cold, and wore no bloody thorns,
no eyes. She listened. What strange air
was shifting organs, marking tombs?
When death collapsed, her need fell bare
and filled her body's ravaged room.
We do not stand, but bow. In this,
the stillest stone became a sail.
We wake, we walk; we watch her kiss
the sun. We hold a trembling tale.