The clairvoyant sends me signals
Of the squall roaring far ahead.
So loud it streams, sleet’s in my head.
Your leaf withers
In me, as the might of you sheds.
Might the chasm gape, still and wide?
A yawning straight from your eye
May I help, may you find
What some of us left behind?
Let me keep my legions folded,
Unto me, my darling feathers.
Unto me, my hunting weathers,
Let me keep my seasons welded.
Aligned with his pain
Couldn’t help but tire the moon,
The herbs and the fruits,
And all living things with juice.
With handing deliverance
Was squeezing a handful of dirt
Into a passionate hum.
From his face a stream of tears,
Down to the very last strum.
Yet he carries on,
Fishing out tinners and clinkers
From the lake, he’s the flinkest.
The lake that rustles and whispers,
The lake that sings him a song:
“Where thou findest, thou belongst.”