more than I, more than you,

more than the moods of seasons and the madness of dreams,

it is always here,

always here,

a sacred silence

where death is beautiful,

where, always here,

here,

unborn children,

abandoned by angels

grieve in a desolate sky.

….

count me as your lover

in the face of this oblivion,

this nowhere,

this here,

always here,

here,

this unbearable blindness,

this endless heart-rain of fire,

these crystal bodies raised

on pyres of ignorance and despair.

accept this prayer,

from these empty hands,

from this naked place,

the mountains, oceans and deserts

are singing your name.