I listen to the dying things.
I listen to their whispers:
they resonate,
they linger,
they haunt.

I harvest the tangles of emotion.
I harvest them from ugly places:
in darkness,
in obscurity,
in truth.

I discern the resulting chaos.
I discern to avoid internal decomposition:
it will coagulate,
it will corrode,
it will rot.

I compose the order.
I compose its form & its name:
it compels gravity,
it urges translucency,
it beseeches petrification.

I understand the pain.
I understand its force:
it reveals,
it confesses,

I am no longer haunted.