"Seven Games of the Rood" (for B. K.)

Foolish pangs, the glow
Intenser for the rain outside.
The twin suns sink behind the lake;
The afflicted warriors come.

They little thought how pure a light,
And we sang dirges in the dark
As the ceiling blew away
My ashes in the embracing mould
And fast in chains of crystal
We sleepwalkers never age

And strange moons circle through the skies.

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The Diebold Variations. (via Metafilter)