I spy your gospel lurking by the strand
as silver slides against a velvet purse.
Are answers docking nigh this fallow land?

Before us lies a large imposing hearse.
Instead of rolling onto distant slopes,
it starts towards me, sobbing wordless verse.

It pulls upon my skin with battered ropes
but somehow fingers fend off fruitless fear,
allowing breath to flood back with my hopes.

The heated gates behind us slam and sneer.
Then, silence falls atop cold faces still
distraught by echoes howling far and near.

When springtide comes to this uncomely hill
my heart will welcome Charon’s transparent will.