A paler poison there could not be; if only
We could see the little grey left
In midsummer skies, they’d come back to us.
The children of the night. Traces scorned
Of a disappearing tongue, buried beneath
The cloying undergrowth; the leaves remain
Distilled in memory of a clan, of a clan that lived here
And was washed ashore when dead. If only
The colours were a soulless black, darkness silenced
Until broken; the lord of light astute
Brings me vain conviction, slivers slight as the moon withheld
Of hope. I will forgive them a thousand times over,
Sin erased from the whitest of folds.
Night’s children, rebirthed at dawn.