Dearest liquid life,

Faces of many that stare,

telling of this path and others,

Of souls so bare, that they are liquid.

Shattered glass pane,

how come you flow so smooth?

Taking my head and scribbling life,

maroon splinters, auburn shard,

take me into your maw.

Summer days gone, and I look at you alone,

once many images flowed to you,

Six faces bright and roan,

sunken to aqueous spill.

I look to you free, but gaze away broken,

 you offer my brain to the grass,

to the sky,

yet I remain flaked and furred, to my loss,

to my image, to my heart.

I shall leave you now, forgive my tears,

you soak me up, ecorche traveller,

bobbing heads of playful kin,

shaking, shimmering, fading.

In the ether of my end, I shall always be,

but to them who are but mist now,

blessed in my plea, to a deafened blade.

And thus, their end.

And I am alone again.