Precipice of the Sirens

You always understood me. That is why I was a vanishing: I did not want to be understood. So many wounded tomorrows on the horizon. To be seen is a kind of desecration. Like a mirage, I vanished—I vanished!—into the drifting mist. This is the mirror of fire. This is how you die.
This is how you dissipate
Awake at the shatter of daybreak
restless as the rebel angels
driven to the precipice of the sirens, I witnessed—