We were in the eagle's chariot A collection, all of us We were riding the eagle's chariot every last one of us
The earth was a cartoon sphere With silly farm squares Drawn there, and drawn here We were zooming into, We were focusing upon hills and hamlets of my verdant youth.
The Light The sky was in two. The light behind us. The light of June 21st. The longest light. The light of 8:46 pm. It becomes antique light at that point, light that should not be around Light stolen from somewhere. Pleasant and eerie. We were retreating from that light.
We flew westward on the eagle's chariot. "The West is The Best" Looking westward, The sky was dark and decaying The bruise of the summer storm loomed in the distance. Western wind ruffled eagle feathers A screech went off across the land meeting and bouncing off the scattered towers as the storms and their ally, twilight stake their claim upon the embers of the wanning year
Three times we circled a stone church Then on to an old yellow house The others on the chariot Were seeing their churches and their houses
We never met the decay Nor did we fully leave The solstice light