Under the shy sun
and the wind smashed trees
Your face is warm
sweetest here among the homedark fields

The high clouds process over
fat with the forgotten seas silver
sleeping dove pinions wrapped
blind to the cries of the gluttonous earth

you divide unexpectedly
under the clumsy breath of the steel
one now are three
i hoped for two

So the way of things surges
through hearth, hand, star and stone
thus grows our shining refuge
from the always sea of words