With wincing voids and dismayed mornings
The leisured stones ring.
Does Fire not yearn to burn the garden
To transfuse your body into light
Does rain not hurry to sodden the sky
Or oceans? Do they not strive to find
The galleys of ANCESTOR wrath
With yearn to sail it around by violence?
All of them yearn
Your delicate wishes
Your shadow to please.
A joyful play