Darkness in the sky had bloomed. Some witch was seen to gloom the room. Silence spoke and tore them back. They’d found themselves in trauma’s lack. Someone saw right from the start. They’d been the one to love her art. It hurt them most for how they’d see—the girl betray herself for free. Gwevera sought for one the most. She’d long pretend them not a ghost. She’d hope and plead and pray to see their face return and take knee. Morecai had been untrue. He knew his bride and ran onto—other journeys out abroad. She needed time without her clod. Fires rages and water too—wind and earth would be in queue. Her poetry had come unglued and needed one to see it true. His return had proved it all—they weren’t the same—oh, not at all.
