Suppose we just left this here where we stand,
bathed in the fluke of our existence, jammed together,
packed in fragrant oils, an auspicious beginning,
failed where we were in mapping our history,
no devil or mortification, simple notifications
handed down from conscience to conscience,
stirring a snake in the pot of the unified body,
a borderline where no one comes out alive,
from sun to moon is just a day, gleaning blood
red drops upon the earthly moss, stray with us
and come to an open window, dare to jump
from the high castle to the piddling moat,
our frayed senses have come open,
there is no one better to allot the trinkets
of understanding, born as imps and striving
for our spirits, the rest of our story has been hid
inside an egg whose yolk will storm, whose yolk
will passeth all as a ghost, whose winds shake trees,
whose fear is self-contained, imposter of a bird flaming
from without, the gaining sunrise and the moon in doubt,
a span of years for any contemplation, one whose legend is a nation.
