An isthmus, a glacier, a vast and sullen desert A mossy haven seared to stricken tinder A homeward vision perpetually distant A precious body crumbled to dust in our hands
Desperate stewards of a fast-eroding levee Hobbled crabs tracing circles in the sand We reach, lunging useless at her shadow In confu-sion as she recedes like the tide
The lurch of vertigo on the precipice of cold nostalgia Crumbling facade of the present clutching at our wrists with hands made of ice
In every star a hungry and wandering ghost, in every heart a churning mass of worms
For such a fragile lie we thirst, we convulse On our knees as penitents in a lake of dust
And she wears her crown of asphodel, slick with dew, though they grow at the mouth of hell.
He who sows in flesh reaps bones.
Written by: John Edwards, Matt Stikker, Patrick Fiorentino, Tyler Wolfe
