the cipher raised to the power of n
one – we greet
this god and fork our tales in appropriation
of one or more
in fact, in loose affiliations of the
porous and torn
the cipher raised to the power of n
ought – we claw
our mist into beginnings and renditions
of embalments
Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 
from nothing
we decipher beginnings
painting eyes on the mist all night
The Tagoresque gift of painted eyes lends the mist sufficient sight to drift away from the gloomy embalments that I have consigned it to. Thanks Rajani š