Night a nine of diamonds. A woman lay and cries. At the sister of Mercy. On a Sabbath day. Night a nine of diamonds. As revealers commence. To shiver as she bore. In a babe a radiance. Brave in constant motion. Wherein perfection brews. Darkness as his brother. Mischief as his moon. Summoning beneath. With his gypsy moves. Yearning as the foal. Shy and beautiful. Every card he drew. Had a different face. Lingering and lost. Unholy holy ghosts. I tend to play them all. He spoke with confidence. Another kind of strange. To shift in loneliness. He sought not for himself. The empire he would find. Save the golden womb. He enter in his mind. We will die a littler. The rogues whistling. Nine blue-eyed sailors. Tip their caps to him. As he passes through them. More vagabond than king. With diamonds on his sleeves. Like a harlequin