I stand and watch those lonely trees,
The lonely moon, this shallow sea...
I stare at them and they at me
And broken nails wrote through flesh:
Those autumn leaves…

The rusty touch of tyranny…
Fingers of lead on my corpse,
Ashy and frail, those roses unfold…
As strings uncut… thy melody

And as my hand on itself has first wrote:
Numb and pure, plastic nails of frost,
Slept the ashes of Purity’s gait on the floor
And dance she did on paper and gore…
As she danced the last word.