Blesst are those who move in and out of rooms.
Who make way in the night for sunrise hours to grace them sleeping.
They are the ones to whom this world spinning of people is trusted.
and those who sit outside the spinning,
outside and wetting with the dew every inch of skin
and cloth that they claim their own,
sitting in no throne,
hold no claim over any world or room,
they too are blesst.
They make the Earth to be spun,
to be whole under every star,
breathing and keeping nothing but that dark warm,
forgiving all trespassers, as they are this land,
these trees,
the waters still swirling and sinking into their skin.
All others watch in awe the fire making one moment out of the last, making that past into the next seeing thing shining eyed being.
