The Sealed Room

These are the bad roses The ones that bloom and blossom in the night Thorns are written in the wreath that reposes In this chamber, far from the light To the night hunter, the least of the senses is sight It is not the face of the moon that exposes The prey. She divines the direction of flight Using her sword, her blindfold, and her scales Here are the dice, the timber, and the nails That fell from the hand and were held in the mind This song is in the wind that fills the sails Which is the servant and the master of the blind Neither the kingdom of the moon, nor the empire of the sun Can be heard without the other. These two are one