06 Sep Lest Much Heartache Come to Thee

Rich dawn touched mirth-moored cloud
Coursing piercing paths in heavens’ crevice;
Waves blown great east, sky-proud,
Murmur something sacred, ancient, precious,
Speaking holy worlds, creation’s preface.

Rose-green flesh roots stalks deep
Soaked in sweetest water springs deliver;
Rain break seas’ sunk-drowned sleep,
Cold as canyon deserts forged by river,
Freezing even breezes, see it shiver.

White fields ripe rove spurned glade,
Guiding seasons home to harvest’s dusting:
Stars fold, moons wink, suns fade
Lifting tide to dreams and dreams to trusting,
Past the Nile, past its eerie gusting.