A crisscross breeze
nips
me
gently.
I can see the way,
clearly
they have come
for my resurrection.
Under twinkling stars,
the incense swirls,
its glow tip smoldering
into the heavens.
And here mortal,
I sing sacred songs
& spirit-drummers chant
while the ancients
ghost dance.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
A crisscross breeze
nips
me
gently.
I can see the way,
clearly
they have come
for my resurrection.
Under twinkling stars,
the incense swirls,
its glow tip smoldering
into the heavens.
And here mortal,
I sing sacred songs
& spirit-drummers chant
while the ancients
ghost dance.
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