Hear me, kiln-child of diamond bright
Raging furnace, though flicker-light.
Hear me, rain-child of icy crash
Earth of heaven, kissed sky of ash.

Give thanks I must before the prose
To those from whom my mind arose.
Gave to me blood, coin, or den,
Or shatter-point which changed my ken.

To she from who we all began
Wielder of the asklepian:
These are the dreams of which you asked;
My pen begins its greatest task.

To he who was as rock to all
Guiding path and crucial wall:
Your songs along the highway dim
Comfort my soul when it is grim.

Gray dog who saw the other side,
Came back again to laugh and chide,
You taught me not what I should think
But rather to use mind as ink.

I sometimes dream of sunken one,
Who deconstructed life for fun.
Where are you now my shining muse?
To you are owed my greatest dues.

Twin scarlet flames upon divan,
Your fate I will avoid if can.
Harshest lesson, horror thus:
No blood, or coin, or den do trust.

Kiln, rain, Zaqar, please gift to me
The strength I seek through precari!
My wick is short, the end in sight
I must create with all our might.