Accommodate no man, before language is turned again
Upon itself. She carries now my children unto death:
Wading into battle unarmed, anger unrequited,
Waist-deep in expiration.

To loiter neverward lest she, untethered, split the sky
In multiples of sound, introspective uroboros;
Sometimes, swallowing them whole.

But relegated then, as we are, to shielding our eyes
And I, giddy in the sinister and hungering wake
Of silence. Neither moment nor event signaling turn
To the traffic of imagination. Leaving nigh but
One assertion unchallenged
In memes of speculation.