A Standing Stone

"let life be the word of the stars"

So said the rain to each man
looking up at the sky that night
and touching the cold breath of a thousand generations.

It fell harder then
and the colder the night, the darker things meant
But the man that only walked
and wondered at the breathing trees,
did he feel the smiling sun beneath his feet?

Circles and
Circles
and
Circles
and Circles

A thousand livings and dyings, veiled in
spittle from the gaping maw of twilight
a fog, a cloud,
and the god-burning need to be known
and to know

Green can be seen again
in the laugh of a child
but men will always die again
and again, the mother's cry ends in a smile

Every thing goes down at dusk
And so we trust to stone our hopes
Afraid we may forget with rusty hands
The smell and touch of soil

---

An eyeblink opened,
a tree as a man
Standing, breathing, living

Brother sun rising out of his coffin-mould,
Branches born of streak-leaved love,
Morning seems enough, more than enough
To speak this tongue of fire or flood
As every thing becomes the burning angel's voice