Am I a shadowed child?  Doomed to erase

ancestors, possessions?  With a blast

these hands have made?  Shut, shut my door.

Shut my home.  My life.  Close them fast.

One live day.  One cold desert.  One night more.

From the forgotten forests drives the past:

Lost bodies in the sand, chalk faces, the grace:

come tremble here, come out. The spinning core.

Too-close languages stare me in the face.

From Spells