Oh brother, it vexes me to have lost you in such immense nothingness, where my spear means nothing—lacking your eyes, your heart, your soul. Oh, the pain of telling father that there’s no one left to guard my back on these cold, dead nights. When the stars grow bright, my fondness slumbers, for there is no brighter, stronger love than yours: for darker blankets and small bonfires, for tales of wonder from years beyond our age, and for fortunes once calling our names.
But aghast I lie, your mouth lost to my ears. No foul play, no early retirement—just your name, absent from these times of wonder.
—In the desert of solitude, at the foot of the Mount of Abraxas