so much to work for, you and i:
and when the fable is written,
and projected against the sky,
perhaps it will be a new kingdom.
there is an endless source of hope
for when the night won't lift;
our bodies extend, we learn to cope
and weed out memories from the grit.
a night like this, so full of guilt,
steeped in story and pictures of dawn:
at gold, we swirl and race and tilt
towards morning with blunt swords drawn.