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Somewhere towards the start of night
Is where the run began
Shards of crimson tears shed by
The despot's neutral hand

No need there just primal urge
As moon begat the race
No finish line, no goal, no path
Nor god, nor science, nor grace

Distance clear; mountains, fjord, glen, and rivers wide
Alchemied through vector's fire
Two dimension ride

Ghosts appeared and - serpents -
And the cards of lovers spent
Spilled cups and sallow siren songs
And broken covenants

Breath pulled down
To cinnamon depths
Where dreams wetnursed
The missed

That rose in spider's fingers
To the lips - parched, cracked, and pursed

The final line towards final shire
Boundary hard and warm
The muse, the mountain, artist left
Once again unharmed