What air. What hollow light. What weeps in shadow. What receives. What mind slouches forward to be born a new god? Whatsoever is loosed here will be loosed above. What art, then? Whose? What thunder. What fire. What wrath.
[May this not end on wrath. As it does for–how many now? The count will not hold. Of these, how many too young to pronounce the word.]
What rage, what grief. Whose ears? Whoever has them, what do you hear?