arcane matter out of place

No, Light, I don't believe you,

the things you show me when you're nude,

or the concrescence of warmth

in the seeding of the earth.

The Indian woman, tethered

by a feather

to the gravity of the sky,

She does not believe you.

Once, you shone from her navel,

but, like me, are now extinguished.

The snake crawls on his belly

in the dust, as we wash the dust

from our clothes.

My heart struck deep

by the dark arrow of your absence,