A sting and then the rapture flooding in, so nothing mattered but that it not end blank, grey days under a microscope of sullen sky; now open-eyed above the coast. Sharper costs unveiled in blood and time a waxen blade of midnight flays the soul, and if I died again, then what was lost? Inside myself, unspoken, frayed, unseen, unsouled. And underneath the sodden crush of sky, I never knew the weight of wondering Another wretched sunrise riding cold, beyond my knowing what remained to me.