Ambrosia touches the lips of the gods, where is she now to share her poison, death in life and life in death? Where is my beautiful Ambrosia, soft and pale as moonlight, thin and sleek as the edge of a knife? Where is her hair as black as gold, glowing as the night? She has left me now, to face the dark alone. But she has given me night vision, that I may see it as she did. And as I look on the water, where the moon swims in secret and the stars sing louder than silence, I know her secret. The secret of the darkness, of the music that does not have to tell its story. Nighttime forgets everything, for when is more forgiving than the dark? When everyone is lost in fog and mist and nothing is anymore. Nothing is. The strong coolness of the cliff isn't even certain now, logic has been lost in the wind, and granite is only what you trust it to be. Everything is exactly as it should be now, because there is no should left. There is only the music of the silence, the beauty of the dark, the sweetness of Ambrosia that the moonlight drinks until none is left for me.