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  5. I listened to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his...

I listened to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his grace, his grace had no name; only, night became something else in his presence, as though darkness had a soul, here, swaying to heartbeats roaring.

Marjorie M. Liu
Winter, Night, Wind
Marjorie M. Liu (2008). “The Iron Hunt”, p.52, Penguin
I listened to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his grace, his grace had no name; only, night became something else in his presence, as though darkness had a soul, here, swaying to heartbeats roaring.