Tonight I am in the open field
Wheatgrass freely tickles the calf
I will stretch the canvas for a hundred yards
And fade away into winter sky

Glide along the freezing clouds
In between here and outer space
A thousand miles away with the migrating geese
To go without chains

The wind screams quiet in my ears
Following the invisible breeze of fate
Alone I go, alone I rip the strings


Tonight, the moon hangs a pockmarked perfect orb
Exhilarates with the liquor of light
A dead land, timeless beyond man
A slain foe of refurbished bone