It was midnight in the rain. All symbolic interpretation begin/began!
The uninhabitable space between drops so fine--where winging, clinging words that ring so true were suffocating Muse's Pyre's Blues--was learning to burn its burial shroud and reconstruct itself in the New Phoenixian style.
This day was new and quite profound: The space between Time's Movement's hands became a place to hatch our plans: We couldn't eclipse the infinite.
But we died trying.