Moonrise when the sun should sink and the dry desert cry would ring through the night and you will soar
You will soar, as if the wind must ask of more And a cracked tulip may shrivel from the rasped breath of your flight
Yet, it's you alone in your might. And none would know of your plight, none other than the moon. That laughing moon.... If only to pluck it out with talon-ed finger...
But you, with clever eye, will see that so long as your sole arch carves the sky perhaps could quake even the shadowed backs of devils below and still always you will soar
Night glider, sing Sink, or take wing Dry wind on feather Earth and bird, together