It came along this white line that might signify dawn’s emergence as well as dusk’s candlestick.
It passed beyond the unconscious strands; it passed beyond the eviscerated summits.
They were ending: the cowardly countenanced renunciation, the holiness of lying, the harsh drink of the executioner.
Its word was not a blind battering-ram but rather the canvas where my breath was inscribed.
With a pace unsure only behind absence, it came, a swan on the wound, along this white line.
[MAC]