No closer now to knowing it, that rock world,
years past the storybook age. Desolation’s lode,

We let it keep itself
since it refuses to belong to us. We are

Now I have been asleep a long time.
I am grown opal, unbreakable: a white blade

Nights in the castle we dream of hounds
we once ran, all those unused names.

"A god can do it"—yes. But a girl?
The Greeks named it hubris,

Mother, I love you. But with the dead
we drink differently, holding the cup
in the left hand, pouring the wine this way

Now, in this blue room, we will give ourself
up, let the long siege go, like a fist

It was red, which pleased him. Small
and hard, it fit in his palm