Foreboding morning
Hand to harvest, my breath dust
How can I ever get my hands to plow?
Sorrow and splendor
You’re beauty and rage
My neck craned and eyes burned
All worlds reflect my sight
Stare to heaven
Gold streams
Foreboding morning
Hand to harvest, my breath dust
How can I ever get my hands to plow?
Sorrow and splendor
You’re beauty and rage
My neck craned and eyes burned
All worlds reflect my sight
Stare to heaven
Gold streams
a nice place to sit at the table
with tired hands to break bread
and good people to share communion
with good wine to drink
and a warm room to enjoy
with a chair to lean into and recline
and topics of interest to discuss
with the night closing through whiskey
and a blessing for all
this game with people
two or more
impression made
notions that set hearts toward mountain summit
bring feet into quagmire