I find myself in a barrow,
Caked in dew and ash,
I know not how I found myself here,
And yet I hold the shovel,
In my personal astronomy,
I’m at my nadir,

No longer illuminated by lunar,
My eyes are asteroids of ice,
And no stars rest behind them,
My zenith is now obscured,
Hidden by clouds I myself painted,
I know not why,
But even now I hold the brush.


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