Doom

Doom. Under the weeping wood. In the gloom. In the darkness. In the cloudy twilight. The smell of sulfur-a finger pointing to another world, in the wisps and hollows, a volcanic spring. Strangeness. Nihil. Stillness. The nightbirds, their cries a forlorn compass, counting corners, marking time, circle like ghost ships. The nightmare visits, drops from the vine like an overripe plum. Abomination. Life reflected in its opposite-unlife. Nightshade. Atropine. Fire. Jimson Weed, its flowers open in the twilight of morning. Wolves cry in the distance. A stranger dies.