Picture taken from "Rampo" by Yoshitaka Amano

There is this wide-eyed and savage glare, both glazed and unrepentant.

This frenzied mass of whirling mists, that howls early on midnight.

Saw the red unappeasable hunger, as the unfurling of her imperious tentacles.

Just as relentless so the black pool of terror goes,

Hence her pull is the absence, nowhere to be seen,

Naming the name ones nameless, if one steps between the billow and the calm.

On the other side of tangible grounds. Across succulent meadows his golden glory bounds.

Reluctantly and hushed. We are mounts on our daily haunts.

I seek now to only remember that soft glimpses before the tug.

A tiny sparkle where the dim usually hides within its reach, images flutters outside their frames,

And if founding this dew of yore sends us home, yet of the most guileful Mare travels in altered attires,

Each rustle will be filled with melodies that particular shimmer brings.

And ripples beyond ripples,

Before we knew the songs are settling down,

We will be at home and sound.