Silence on a moonlit snow slope
There comes alive a sound of hope
The foxes on the hills barked clear and cold
And in winter, frost heave your bones, a mold
You come from darkness to the night
Apt and ready to make things right
Gutted, skinned, and shimmering alone
His eyes, darker than I had known
He grins and swings the scaly horror of his tail
With a withering breath of gale
Through mist, in chilly solitude
Even at this altitude
Inner badness spread like ink and taken him over
And look how he grins, like a joker
Garmented in nothing, he is apparently asexual with scaly, plated flesh. Crossing in an X upon his back are two short, curved blades. The foxes are barking more than ever, but they are diminishing with each one, and already beginning to fade. He turns his head toward them, and they finally stop. His grin is jammed with filed teeth, gnashing and moving with his pulsing throat, as if trying to speak the stream of thoughts flowing through his head, reflecting every stimulating instinct he was re-born with.
(BARKBARKALIVEIMALIVEIMHUNGRYHUNGRYBARKALIVEIMBARK OXESHUNGRYBARKBARKCOLDBARKBLOODCOLDBLOODBARKALIVEBLOODBARK)
He descends the slope and nears the ethereal light of cities and towns and bright-lighted worlds below. Nothing can describe the incredible darkness of the cosmos as he cleared it, moving through its dimensions, finding his shimmering-self treading on the Hill’s crunching snow. Resistance grows against this walker and it tightens around him like a latex barrier, invisible and indignant. Till twitching, he moves forward and descends into complete free fall. Till he finds ground, and with it, grass—
(TREESLIGHTSSTARSMOONPEOPLEANGELSDEMONSDEVI SMOONSTREESTREESPEOPLETREESLIGHTLIGHTDEMONSPEOPLEDEMONSANDA GELSIFOUNDMYREALM)
