Row of blue windows: the sky in a door
Little hands reaching with feathery sighs
Burning homes drinking, then asking for more
Wrinkled men smiling; their breath never dies
Prophets and ghosts at an empty table
Sipping goblets of thought, feasting on words
The yoke is easy, the oxen able
An opening cage, a streaming of birds
Scraps from the kitchen are fed to the earth
Melodies of light which draw on so long
Hearts put in basins of mourning and mirth
Singing the story and reading the song
Invoke the full moon, listen to her talk
Windmills today and the Good Shepherd’s flock
Little hands reaching with feathery sighs
Burning homes drinking, then asking for more
Wrinkled men smiling; their breath never dies
Prophets and ghosts at an empty table
Sipping goblets of thought, feasting on words
The yoke is easy, the oxen able
An opening cage, a streaming of birds
Scraps from the kitchen are fed to the earth
Melodies of light which draw on so long
Hearts put in basins of mourning and mirth
Singing the story and reading the song
Invoke the full moon, listen to her talk
Windmills today and the Good Shepherd’s flock
An-eloquent-leaf
savetheplanet
IamtheshyStargirl
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