After Paul Celan

At what point did the grace wear off from your skin?
The moment I let the blackbird take to air, the air took me

How wreckful was your fall from the golden horizon?
The agony of a defletched arrow fluctuating through an endless vestibule of time

Did the sun smite you by day and the moon love you by night?
I rode all the way here with hungers sheathed to my sides like weapons

What did you become after all these years of running from the beast?
A shadow wandering at the boundary of light, alive in the deadest way

When the maroon mouse in your ribcage tires of treading the wheels, what next?
Picture a forest razed down to its knees, & a rabbit skipping out of absolute ruin