Into the morning

Into the Morning

Tombstone Macrame?

Into the morning.  

Blessings spun on wet wing birds.  

Alive with baffling thrones, 

butterflies on the stick counting thirds.  

Above a small moon 

made white by sunshine

glittering winds.  

Cool drink from rushing stream. 

  No way out of or into the dream.  

Someone speaking, 

talking on the wire as if they know.  

No answers anywhere. 

The glow of life and the sharp knife.  

Out of the ground there comes a noise. 

woman dancing with supple poise.  

Each place you see a shape 

divided earth cannot escape.  

Down wind crow calls 

the eagle dancing on winter's wing. 

Passing a house there, where 

she is singing to everything.  

The cattle out upon the field say

why they give the milk so sweet. 

The army massed there once,

A flute song called them to their feet.  

And in the mine, the mine 

that held the hope of gold and life.  

Deep in the mine.  

Oh Augustine, 

take my hand and 

guide me to the ground, up from the mine.  

And its now I think of leaving hope, 

to take on feelings, somehow deeper.  

And in the mine - deep in the mine. 

Oh Augustine, take 

my hand and guide me to the ground, 

out of the mine.  

For we each have our prayers.  

And we all eat our bread. 

  In our minds hear the sound. 

In our mouths speak the words.  

Words of power, 

words of mind,

words of faith, 

words of fun, 

words of prayer i

n the mine, words of fear, 

in the mine,  

Take me out of the mine. 

This is just another ten minute poem.  Today, I listened to Peter Gabriel's recording of San Jacinto.  Without premeditation, I simple sang the song in my head, and tried to create new lines on a new subject, with the same basic rhythm.  Not exact, mind you, just approximate.