The wind sings in my ear

Of a far-off raging sea,

Of a storm that tears

and shudders from the north.

I hear stories

of a God who cries,

And runs over cadavers

with horses in its shadow.

A woman in red combs her hair.

She is a pearl in their stable.

Oh, but the wind,

a lonely sighing thing,

It sings and it sings and it sings.

Sweet misery. Oh, love.

A bell rings


And on a graveyard my ship drifts in,

so burdened that she keels.

Splinters bleed the ocean,

and the conquest is over.

The creeping waves sleep

in the dark without sound,

And the ship ghosts away.

She combs her hair

while the horses dance.