Thresheld

We could fall behind
We could stand here thresheld
Put horns to our mouths
And accept into the fold
Whosoever answers
And whatever comes

Ici parmi ces quelques arpens de neiges
We don't privilege logic here
We dream the cryosphere
A reverie of melt, and stealth
And conditions
And conditions
We could fall behind
We could stand here thresheld
Plant flags at our feet
And steady-up for the groundswell
The ebbing of the tide
And what takes us under

Ici parmi ces quelques arpens de neiges
We don't privilege logic here
We dream the cryosphere
A reverie of melt, and stealth
And conditions
And conditions

An armada of beasts in the night
A death on the shoulder in light
An arcane bereavement exposed
For a poorly-chosen approach
A scent on the air of a plight
Of a centered attack on a lithe
And suddenly body acoustic
And ripped
And dead in the bud
And thrown to the ground like a glove
And plummeted down from above
Like the force meant for a man
By a heaving and motionless land
Hoisting him up to the ridge
And over the side of a bridge
And drilling him as he falls
And siting him as he falls
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all
But not seeing nothing at all