It began then, during the ten wet nightsof red crabs clawing at the moon,a nymph that had just drownedin a maelstrom; the haunted moisturecollected around a skeleton the lemon treewas betrothed to when, near the funguscovered mud, I saw the air risingwith such madness above the ferns;I could’ve sworn I heardsomething, a ship distant underthe realm of a terrible solitude.Is that all? I thought to myself, lifeEclipsed by the so called human condition,So many blanched almonds coweringagainst a dystopian cauldron!
It’s my cross to bear, she said,it’s my cross.