The Gaze of Death
Oftentimes, I know, at bedsides and in twilights of premonition,
before your triumphant gaze my gaze has been extinguished.
In mine weakness and longing, in yours the glistening laughter of steel,
and I glimpsed my own thought in its mirror.
She walked, pale and confused, into the distance of unknown Cities buried in snow,
into gloom and polar nights, along the mute weariness of roads.