A corrosion of our shared faith
in how sunrise should feel
to a night chilled face.
A wasting disease
of our individual hopes: failing, wilting,
drained of heat and blood.
An injury to the bones.
An insult to the stones
below our feet. A consummation
of historical tangles
of wrong paths and missteps
and mythic levels of stubborn denial
leashed to pure and wholesome
Evil. It puts words
into our mouths no one
fully understands,
but we speak them
anyway. In this ending,
all words trend toward
inscrutability. Confused,
sunrise stumbles on without us.
Dark Matter 
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