As the sun falls, I am the inky shadows dancing on the earth, cheering you on to sweet rest. Let night fall, O mighty light. Sweet night, the stars are made of dreams. Can’t you dream? Why stir you now in bed?
But sleep, she would not, so far away, and the night was drenched in sweat and longing until I rose and blindly wrote the scene. Bloodletting had this wisdom—to let it out would heal my soul. Bleed words, bleed song, bleed sadness and hope.
The sun rose. Then it was time to wake. Then I fell asleep.
Tale Told 