Thinking of the parties of the past
those times and feelings are gone
and I don't want them back.

Too much beauty causes pain
too much pleasure brings sadness.
The tent that's left of my flesh
can only handle
a little light
at a time.

In the place where
whole peoples have
disappeared into the earth
I place my head
against the written stone
and cough a thousand wings.

Tables turned reflect
a hidden flame.

My craft and quiet art
goblet smashed in the twilight.