The stone prophet calls, "you've got some work to do, son"
Moon's sleepy coruscation wake before me runs
I instead reflect the light of the pulsing hot sun
To blind all the answers until the question's given up

A light warm and safe and easy to unfold
For another to wrap 'round your tongue and your nose
But my dance you catch in your searching eye rolls
So I refuse to bow and to pick up my rose

Because light is simple and reflected and not mine
Far easier to slice into thrices and dine
On the fine wafer fillers and loose-legged wine
Because though light is heartless- it's far from unkind

So why must I face, then, the undulating moon?
The immensity, instensity, the blue lover's swoon?
The well of reflection white clarity in tune
To the spotted man crouching, denying his rheum

My starry knight buckles and falls down depleted
In a panic, I frantically get my men seated
I wring out the cosmos for what I've become
As I turn and say
"You've got some work to do, son"