Antiquial light shed with a wave of lichen hand
An ancient tress, a wooden pulse
Varnish reeks, shadows creak
A stale grace, old tea, old tea
Here, lies power dormant, undying light
Aether moves as blown dust correlates
Elder light suffused in the cold
Glazing grey permeates all corner
A jurisdiction passed on the immaterial
Can here, not dream death on life
Otherworldy shan't call the living
With falsities
Material silence
Utter and complete
They disperse from the unmistaken
Corporeal manifest
Dry rot
Old tea
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