into the black lake at midnight,
a teacup full of ink beneath the brighter stars,
we dove, dark into dark, improbably,
piercing the oilskin surface, the thick black gloss,
molten steel poured into the mold of the hills;
plunged like metal fragments,
we were melted down, dissolved,
and the whole world was made from
or becoming formless black;
we were destroyed, we were born.
reassembled in the moment we rose to the air
from the void, from the cool furnace
forged again into our selves, retempered, new.
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