Birch roots twist where the moon bleeds dry,
I laid my heart ‘neath a silver-eyed sky;
Whispered her name with a blade of bone,
Let the white sap drink me stone by stone.
Crimson rings on the paper bark,
Count the years since the night turned dark;
My ghost still sings where the birch trees sigh—
A scarlet hymn for the love I crucified.