twelve hundred almost-symphonies

and five thousand words of trust

locked in dreams and kept in cartons

left in tatters, left to rust

and up two hundred ragged mountains

their peaks curved under in the sun

uplifted on the backs of titans

their skin in tensions overrun

in twenty hundred almost-symphonies

in ears too locked in dreams to hear

too kept in cages not to dream of it

when peaks of mountains bow to fear

and nineteen thousand words of loving trust

whispered on the night they were betrayed

over the body of a pale moon grave

records of the tensions still replayed

while more the night dripped and decayed