So little time the number eight
turning and turning on itself
infinity on its head
how arrogant to think
we can symbolize so much
so more than enough so endless
here it is again this time
the branches bare it's winter
one sole fruit holds on
our disbelief suspended
how she disappeared taken abducted
we stopped holding our breath almost
our eyes drift back exhausted
finding the red promise
its leathery case enwrapping seeds
all that's left
who'll take up the knife
split the skin
render the ground
open the grave
listen for the chthonic hoofbeats
even now on our hands and knees
we strain to remember one word of the prayer
the names of the prayed for
the way we cursed the ones we buried
the way her mother cried when she was taken
and at night we lie awake with the vibrations
of her desire for eternal darkness
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