more than I, more than you,

more than moods of seasons and madness of dreams,

it is always here,

always here,

a sacred silence

where death is beautiful,

where, always here,


unborn children,


grieve in a desolate sky,

seeking solace

in the karmic chaos

in the face of this oblivion,

this nowhere,

this here,

always here,

count me as your lover,


in this unbearable blindness,

this endless heart-rain of fire,

count me

as your lover,

all crystal bodies

raised on pyres of ignorance and despair,

accept this prayer,

from these empty hands,

from this naked place,

from here,

from this deaf heart,

this here, this always,


the mountains, the oceans and deserts

are singing your name