As I walk across the black garden of the dead, they gaze at me from underneath their flowered beds. My shadow fled before I even placed a foot in this accursed place, but I have myself. The mist surrounding me dissipates from time to time to reveal her ghosts; her ghosts, those which haunt me night and day and murder my fire. They circle and dance their songs of ice and darkness around me. They dance her song. Her song is in my head and her music empties my loins. Her song is in my head.
Eyes water and ears shatter
the bird washes in gutter's splatter
organs break and steps falter
no tears for him who does not matter
The song is loud but unclear. I learn the tune and predict an ending. I follow along, trying to sing along. Alas, I cannot completely decipher its every note and word. Would that I could find her ghosts' tombstones and give them flowers! I cannot.
Her song is sweet and tender, but with cruel crescendos that destroy.
I lay on the grass, cradle myself to its rhythm, and close my eyes to fall asleep. My shadow never comes back, and neither does her. Nevertheless, the ghosts remain.