Forbidding, under ill angel. Every color bled into the dark. Ichor rather than wine, soot rather than hearty fare. Silence instead of echoes through this night. Breath fogged upon window, fade every tear shed, every sob muted, until there it’s back into the sky. Under every unlucky angel. Every ring glistens less, every song left out of tune. Wander then to dimmest light, for that bit of warmth, that memory of day.
– Mitsuo Tanaka