a serpent coiled in dusk must burn to remember its name

shatter be reborn shift to shadow all in a single breath of season

in the pyre’s gleam the mad gods writhe like dying embers

red as rust eels in the moonlit mire coil through the rot and rubble

the prophet of bone claims that the stars are dead and traces a finger through space dust

she calls out to me the daughter birthed of scales and ice luscious locks of night flowing like veins across an infant world

singing alongside the embers a chant of dying gods and fading spells