I saw the end of the wind
In a loop of memories
Buried beneath countless pyramids

In the writer’s chamber
Where bloodhounds lick marble spit
Trapped in the cage of moons

Senseless, aimless, hopeless
Yet children are born there
Uncertain at the dawn of life

Isolated
Enclosed by the fur of bloodhounds
Who gently cleanse them

That delights the newborns
They smile and dance
Meanwhile the bloodhounds sleep

Always with one eye open
To guard the newborns
So they may grow within the chamber

On their birthdays, pyramids crumble
So that a new realm may rise
So that a new realm may rise