lxxxi.

the Old Gods are dying,
--aren't they always?

those stories kindle, the wind
falls between the walls--

--and who knows what lies beyond
them, shadowed and rustling,

in the burning night, by the fire
it's flailing phantoms,

the note--is this:

whisper and it kindles,

---

sure as shadow--the falling dark
your reference

will live as many lifetimes, as
are necessary,

---

surely: the indelible imprint
remains--

beyond feeling, the touchstone
the remnant of

who knows what?--it remains
through fear, past it

the rest fails, who knows why?--
this empty thing

rebuilds it.