This is a song of despair, she wrote
and began to call all the unfaithful gods.
I want that book, the silver chain around the time,
the ancient poems and the thinnest drops
of the morning rain.
I want the things I left behind,
the gravestone where my name
is carved on.
I want my plaints, my unwearied plaints
boxed up in a hasty night, she wrote.
And I want my words back
because this is a song of despair.