The Wells of Bliss

Shun can’t come back.
The halls were warm.
The lamps lit night.
Skin glowed in shades.

The gates weren’t locked.
The walls were dark.
Strings strummed low songs.
Wind stirred the bells.

In small, charmed hours,
Bright steel slid through.
Bare throats gaped mouths.
The lamps went out.

That court’s still now,
Still there, still dark.
Taotie owls roost.
Wind stirs the bells.