The machines of man are moving mountains.
The sacred sky is shifting sands
into the crystal castle monuments
the city scape you're sitting in
built by crushed stone and glass.
We are the light bringer
the tiny stars fusing fast,
the earth's dark surface glowing,
birthing cells inside volcanoes,
stark and empty tundras,
twisting hurricanes and blue
so much precious blue.
predators, prey and precious compassion
are in the warm winter dens
of mice and men and machines
and I am overcome with loving you
the undulating folds of sky
that are under your skin and mine
touched and electric
tracing the neck bones, the soft lips, the thigh
what mad and beautiful god
could unfurl a creature such as this
from some light and crushed hygrogren?