his mother’s dark lament

In this hour I was the white son in my father’s death. In blue showers
the night wind came from the hill; the dark lament of the mother.

songs which bleed like wounds 

took his lament from his dark mouth 

Soul sang of death, the green decay of flesh,
And it was the murmur of the forest,
The fervid lament of the animals.

ginnungagap

Her lament is for a great river where no willows grow,
Her lament is for a field, where corn and herbs grow not.
Her lament is for a pool, where fishes grow not,
Her lament is for a thicket, where no reeds grow.
Her lament is for woods, where tamarisks grow not.
Her lament is for a wilderness, where no cypresses grow.
Her lament is for the garden, where honey and wine grow not.
Her lament is for meadows, where no plants grow.

at nightfall the resurrected meet on mountain paths