The moon is the curl of a swan’s neck,
white and graceful tonight
As I follow oily paths to the river
The night is awake with darkness
All around me the night is a heavy shroud
And I walk, dreaming and alone
I slip away from my skin,
shed it like a milky cocoon,
like something to be forgotten
Sorrow is my guide now
His lust has stained me so
I starved his touch from my flesh
I burned the spoiled shell raw
But he still remains
And I am still ruined
Oh, the river, flowing with leaves
The river, my satin grave
The cold blooms bitterly as the water cradles me
And my shaking hands turn to ice
I drink the silence from my lips
And leave behind the frail corridors of the forest
I slumber far from his hands now
I sleep in the river