Less to be, made to be absent, apart from thee inside the wandering puddle. Straying too far beyond the beating tunnel with shadows, around. To the sun, to the eye - that was never meant to cry while death created a nest, with babes against the breast, teeming for the afterlife. The cradle, the fragile terrors a reflection wreaks. The sun bent its touch to warm the coldest vessel buried in a hand. The moon began laughing among storms it fled behind. Love meets me, greets me with stars gathered in arms, with arms bleeding in the dark, with a face smeared by the last kiss. Sadness trails, mouths have wailed - speaking to Heaven, no more. One warm night, one dark flight to be the bird losing wings.