Lily’s breath in the corridor,

white as the ghost of a rose,

she walks where the portraits forget their names,

clock-ribs ticking under the floor.

Moonlight kneels on the marble,

polishing sorrow to glass;

every step is a promise broken backwards,

every echo a spell that never learned to die.

She carries the house in her hollow,

a heart of wax and ash;

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破曉撕裂女貞路的籬墻，

引擎怒吼在籠中長出翅膀；

三把掃帚星懸成燈塔，

我乘騎士公交掠過月色的懸崖。

魔杖在口袋像脈搏敲擊，

預(yù)言的火星燙穿黑夜；

別回頭——

讓麻瓜的鎖鏈碎成紙屑，

飛向風(fēng)，飛向霧，

飛進Book II翻開的下一頁。