Isis کے بول

High on a hill Silhouettes from window sills Chatter their teeth as the sounds our secrets keep A nameless liturgy Over the horizon line Everyday is isis Called as a cresting mirage Singing as a phantom limb A mirror made of faces Held in the halves of my heart Saturdays I forget It’s everything that hasn’t happened yet Deep in this dark Terrors blare as meadowlarks With translucent skin They wear their crooked crowns To shake our halos down