Growing roots, it gradually aged, branches dying falling submitting
to the earth's reclamation until only dead trees stand in the valley's
"pink moment," like the launch pad of nuclear missiles abandoned:
"The mystery of existence and death caught in a single apparition."

Standing in front of an open door beyond which is complete darkness,
I'm chanting Other, Other, Other, Other...imploring the crude body of
my spectral fears to belly forth and reveal themselves.

Something chilly brushes against me.

I shiver,
              alone, in total
              darkness still

I feel the urge to call from myself,
   seen or imagined, the blacker
     than "black, sinister night."