plastered to the newest day
counting down the names that play
I am drinking
of the spirit
watching for the fire
and burning when near it
stalking the landscape and
praying for rain
thirst to be quenched
with no sign of pain
wonder how
wonder how they knew so loud
so long ago
was it under your cloud?
was it under your shroud?
that they buried the urn
took turns with the erasure
and the siezure of the turns
of the wheels
that spell
the meaning out
in cycles of sojourns
of samples of yearning
watching the burning world
as the churning void
keeps turning.