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And swiftly ancient night with ancient rain,
Echoing silver through the stubborn metal,
Rolls back before the ear-piercing notes
Perception offers - to acquire
To such a marvelous extent
For the first and last time,
And to remember all the later life -

Until the swooning silence swallows
The shock and scorching gasps for breath,
I close my eyes – behind my eyelids
Two swallows trapped in primed up net.

Relentless fluster of their feathers
Against unyielding of the loops –
And beating of their hearts, in seizures,
To ricochet the cosmic pulse.

Their pupils finally expanded
With closing image of the sky
Whispering across the tremor,
Feeble words of feeble love.

They say love is the root of all –
A blood red thread, unbroken,
Twists itself around God’s neck,
As to remind Him every time He breathes -

That love is painful.

It daringly repeats itself to us,
Heedless of any of our protestations,
In what went missing before space-time;
And what was left in the reflections
Of wings of butterflies, astray
In the pervasive bracings of the winds.

So heed me, as only saintly hearing strained
To catch the fluids of divine
Skies flung down on us, bereft of any pity,
Not wanting any more, as if tired out.