Unrepenting you start from a sore point
to ask an explanation
from an eclipse of the sun.
Unreviving, a corpse,
the moon carries the burden of light,
on its bloodied shoulder
for burial in dew.
Half the century we were reciting
the prayers to open a blocked artery
of a dying god
who would not share our bandages.
The bride steps out from dark,
and undoes the hairs.
There was fire in her eyes
and ice on her lips.