sadness does not answer by name
is not turning toward you
when you call out to him.
he is a modern nomad
a creature of sharpened teeth and sinew
a carnivore chasing winter.
planting himself within your chest
he turns down the light of your heart
and quiets the rushing blood;
he winds thrice around your ribs
and curls into a deep sleep.

in the rhythm of your breathing
you can hear him
softly humming battle hymns,
his claws carving into your sternum -
marking his newest homestead.