Work Text:
W ind-swept, your graves and your groves both once war-kept
E ach swollen, slick-softening, promising ripeness. That
I s your sowing. Your harvest. You chose this. What - you didn’t
W ant this? You wanted a little. See further: your
U ndead, you soon-dead, your flaking red spittle. They say: but her
X ianxian! Yes, that one’s you. That sharp-smiling riddle
I n Sunshot soon shattered? You too. Now: an age, and
A nother, her grave long since covered - the twilight is shuttered, and he does
N ot ask you which one was true. He takes your hand.