In the dust of days
Where ancient seabeds dry
Ghosts of children play
And rarely wet their eyes

In wild deserts barren
Blind to life and time
Hearts continue tearing
But never you mind

In the depths of dreams
Forests full of gifts
Bursting at the seams
Ripping little rifts

In the horrid screams
The beauty of a sound
What does all this mean?
We all come to ground

In the flesh of words
Lies an empty whoosh
As of baby birds
Upon initial push

In the cornered beast
Something stirs awake
This something is the least
Still not for us to take

In the present dawn
The promises of dusk
Wafting from the lawn
A dank and pungent musk

In the flow of blood
An incessant calling
The roaring of this flood
And all that it is hauling

In the grasp of life
In the dust of days
In the curse of strife
A benediction lays

In the seabeds dry
In the loamy gainful ground
Children wet their eyes
It all comes around

In the depths of of dreams
In the funeral mounds
The eyes of lovers gleam
Please don't make a sound

In the raptured haze
In this collective mess
In a raptors violent gaze
The final sweet caress