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
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