WEATHERING THIS OASIS
Magic herald, Master of Wand,
he who marks our horizons, be
watching : This magma now flows,
the long slide of molten Earth, was
this not made by you as well? Here,
let us pay for our own destruction;
to you surely something is due.
-
There is a predilection for detaining
matter detailed in forms and shapes.
I notice then how motion stops : the
urn which holds its shape regardless;
that hillside entry, where the busy
people go. Range not far, oh little
ones all, for near you danger lurks.
-
Stammer the horsehide, bring back
the cats. On the long field of Ur,
the lethal panther waits.
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