The terrors are not to be wasted: I resurrect them every evening. Grief comes in gusts—I am gasping, breathless, dreaming away dusk after burning dusk. Autumn, the abyss of paralysis, I will remember you. Night shifts in oblivion, I will remember you. The ritual of sinking. I unravel seam by seam. Chained like a beast of Bethlehem in the radiating nights. The terrors regenerating before the mornings rise.