Until the eager stars come falling as common rain, with the uncommon, the rare immaculate drops from your stare - there will be bent forms, there will be surrender to the one bleeding heart, the sun. Until the graves begin to soothe, as countless as stars, with the faces, directed, undirected. With the grief, the disbelief in the love that led them - there will be lost flesh on the end of mercy. There will, inside the hottest sun, the warmest heart, still be the fullest love to keep our eyes closed. Until death moves us to answers, from unanswered souls able to ask without being able to come back. Until the graves move us to kisses deserted from God's hand. Until the lowest tide can push us closer in the sounds of splashes and clashes under the sun as a cold candle.