in the dark,
clouded eyes of your confidence

i impart
the knotted lines of my travails

and renounce
all defense of the artifice

drawing out
the nettled fruit that i bear

vested safely in your folds

kept in pages no one knows

every call i resound
for an antiphon

is impoverished by an infinite decay

all the tones intertwine,
and the words collide
their discordant web ensnares the triads

sounding faintly in your folds

bound in pages no one knows

arm your graces
take my hold

grant these pages your accord

in the dark,

clouded eyes of your confidence

i impart

the knotted lines of my travails