Before the midnight toll

The place it was where the fountains bled – you said

And each drop of blood was on a glass – a whimper

Painfully hidden beneath the eaves of fear – who cared

The nights did not – they turned silence into a whisper

The words transfigured their inner bodies – you dared

To spell the name of their hands already dead

Write the name of their eyes so that they could close

Spill the ink of their heart into the fountains

The souls could be summoned their breath could be felt

As no one had the faith to move any mountains

Their squatted at the foot – down there they knelt

Opening the prayer book of birds-that’s what they chose

To shape the name of their wings –each word frozen in flight

To name the soul that sings with each sound to smite

Ashes within ashes and the dust that dares the dust

Before the midnight toll echo when all words are clasped