Even a flotilla of angels Hatched at dazzle dawn Would be outflanked by These feeler strands of time
While they seem asleep Recumbent on the grass An electric sky applauds Each tiny stir or twitch
As on the morning tide when Beach stones pose as eggs Licked by urgent waves Splashing slow grey skins
This mole-blind Leviathan Will surely rattle headstones As it creaks its way along Mumbling articulation
While wisest beards observe The flight of Time’s new firebird My heart cannot drown the hope Of your exquisite touch
Trembling with the quiet truth That what rends the firmament Casting stars from any track Is your shadowed descent
Lend dormancy your weather eye A touch, a cosmic hug, a sign, May soon direct a hungry breeze Across old Gaia’s loins
Slothful somnambulist Last raggedy man bThis call’s for us for suren And this time we must take it