I went right to the last page of offered words and it didn’t get any better. The Oracle is weeping too.
I am dancing in the dark
no voices hear
in the heart of the night.
Something is broken
in the light or life itself,
the brilliance used up perhaps.
Wild fire haunts the sky
no longer limpid but full of smoke,
and the glowing eye
beats down with ferocious glare.
I listen for the faded voices, lost laughter,
catch only words tossed in the stream—
tree, star, home—
the morning melts in the heat,