‘Who will slay this troublesome claw?’
I ask Night’s cloaked face.
Night snorts out a star, and says,
‘Claw? What claw?
I see only
a man digging the pit
in which he will die from his efforts.’
‘Do you mock me, Night?’ I say.
‘No, I do not mock you. I pity
you, for thinking that I do.’
And then Night turns its collar up,
strolling off into the Way.