A murder of crows calls the morning fog. Let this all be dream or dream of dream And nothing more. A rising hope soon fallen before A gathering storm: a thunder horn. We turn our faces as though hands of clocks; And spin the silver through our locks; And spin the fortune wheel; And spin the skein; And weave our way through borrowed time. An unknown flash of daylight's birth Does split the heart, to split the earth And cleave all hopes of youth in twain. This thundering of the mind soon blasts insane - Or so it seems from without - As from within there is no doubt That no madness sees what madness does, And I see you and me all too clearly. Crows caw "murder!" The murder of crows Through the sky and trees below, By leaf and rock and sand and sea. What murder then? Of you? Of me? No, no. We are still here - Still held to tear or cheer Of whip or wind; Of prayer or sin; Grass, Earth, or Sky; Or to the waters tossed. But here I am And there you listen. We are undead at least. Or else alive. What murder then? The death of Time. And as such, the storm does pass, And night does fall, And moon arise. Stars bless the skies. Perhaps a moth to bring me joy. A smiling girl. A laughing boy. A hand to hold. A wife to love. Miracles all, by grace of God. But morning's mourning Does rise each day, Driving Night's comfort away, And though every morn Is not split by storm, Each is heralded by murder's call. What can I make of it all? Less than you, no doubt, And less than me in form perhaps. But greater if it lives beyond And gives one thing unto my son - Or gives one dream wings to find my daughter's mind - Or beats a path of stars from heaven's gate, Through storm or murder, And leads an angel to my door. One blessing fallen like a leaf; A soul of a star in a grain of wheat. Blood from stone. Breath from bone. Greater than I shall ever be - Or less if it comes not to pass. This woe or joy remains unknown. Blood from flesh. Splinter from bone. Rise Sun, and burn the sky! Let the crows fly. For they sing of dying Time. The hourglass turned, The candle burned, And I to pry my eyes from sleep. Another day, another tear to weep. I wake with pain In stomach, heart, and head. I wake with joy. I wake with dread. I try to shake Sleep's cobwebs from my eyes; Cross myself; And say my prayers To steel myself against the morn - To face the passing moments of a passing life. O, God bless the Night! Where songs fly into the wind And all is alive. All is alive.

The Earth is alive! Not with gods, but ghosts. The earth is undead! The trees do sing! The stones do scream! The river tells its story: The Earth is alive. The Earth is undead.

The Ghosts of the Earth rise in fog and mist. The Ghosts of the Earth dance in fallen leaves. The Ghosts of the Earth speak in flowing streams And flowing dreams where all is alive. The Ghosts of the Earth dwell in time-lost wells. The Ghosts of the Earth sing in tolling bells. The Ghosts of the Earth pray in silent ways And timeless days where all is alive. The Ghosts of the Earth see through cracked-glass eyes. The Ghosts of the Earth hear the fallen leaves. The Ghosts of the Earth speak to those who seek From vale or peak where all is alive.

All Great things are fallen down Or held on high by blessed pins - As blossom to branch Or branch to tree. A spike; a spear; a thorn for thee. And I: the one who weeps awake Or turns, unpinned, in my sleep - For thoughts of thunder, lightning, and rain Or night mares rode again. Sixteen hooves as cannons sound. They shake the towers to the ground; And shake the keys; And shake the chains; And answer lightning; And answer rain. But on high the pins still hold Through blistering heat; Through blasting cold; And onward through the end of Time. Horse repelled. Rider felled. Angels light from tree to cloud. Fallen I, upon my knee. Far less than Angel. Far less than tree. Far less than you is bowed me. Tired, cold, and scared I sing; All in hope of Angels' wing: The downy comfort, warmth, and hope. O pul the pins! Let come again All Great Things Upon the Earth.

I am cold. I am weary. I am hurt. I am lonely. Wrap your wings around me. I am lost. I am frightened. I am broken. I am lonely. Wrap your wings around me. I am nothing. I am hollow. I am not worthy. I am lonely. Wrap your wings around me. Where prayers and shadows blend, Smoke and hope do rise, And forgotten psalms are said: Wrap your wings around me.

There is Time for Angels in the mind. Time for Cloudland. Time for all things Great or small. But, open-eyed, there is Time for gentle strength; And intelligence of hours; And prayers; And love; And family; And little else that matters. The hollow-eyed thieves will steal the day; And steal your voice; And steal your face; Or anything they can pull away. So pin your heart to your soul And on through your bones. Let it bleed and bleed onto dust And onto seed. Hear the bells. They call the Time. Weave your thread amongst the vine, Sustained by blood - The same from your own veins. Remember these matters. Remember what matters.

The vines climb up. The vines cling fast. O, what is first and what is last? The leaves drink sun. The roots dig deep. O, what now wakes and what doth sleep? The concrete cracks. The road doth split. The grasses grow all green within. And flowers bloom Beneath smoke skies. O, what now lives and what doth die? All by the rise And fall of days: Poor men made lords and lords made knave. And by the rise And fall of moons: We come to end so very soon. And flowers wilt. And vines do die. We have one thing - and that is Time. The vines of Time entwine us. Roots of blood do bind us; Reaching back inside us; Weaving through our lives. And we each hold our own thread. As so often I have said: It turns to silver in our hands; Weaving through our lives. The sun doth set, the daylight fades. There's something yet to be made: Twist three strands into a braid; Weaving through our lives. The moon may turn to blood or fall; Darkness cover one and all; Bound in heart we'll hear the call Echo through our lives.

Listen to our footsteps Sounding on the ground. It is the rhythm of our walking on Into the Trees And through the leaves, On to another place That lives beyond our dreams. Scythe breaks hourglass. Sword breaks bone. But son and daughter: You're not left alone. Take my body by famine; Plague; War; Or Time, Still: I shall not leave your side. I shall not leave your side. Embrace the wind For it carried my songs When no man would hear them. Embrace the soil For it bore me on When no beasts would shoulder. Embrace the trees For they spoke to me When no one would hear words. Embrace the birds; And frightened things; And foxes; And wolves; And seeds that may a flower be. Or even thorns. But listen in the night. Rustle leaf And flutter wing. Owl cry. Frog Call. This is what I sing. It can be your song. Though it is not mine to give, But yours to take, And from it make new gifts, Or unbought things To hold in store For lonely nights And lonesome days; When stormclouds seem the only shade From murder cry; Or false light Broke upon the shore of Night And scattered into spray Which lures a million moths To madness' dance; To drunken death. To die. We can see more with our eyes Than color, shape, or weave; And hear more with our ears Than most men believe. And even one's own family May call him insane; Or senseless; Old souled; Touched; Ridiculous. But look beyond the words And see into the heart of all things; And listen to the beat of wings; These are the drums of Time. It IS all in your mind, But you must get it out And make your way Within the world. Brother, see your sister's heart And speak to her your hopes and fears. I am in these words. Sister, see your brother's heart And sing to him your joy and pain. I am in this song. Listen to our footsteps Sounding on the ground. It is the rhythm of our walking on Into the Trees And through the leaves - On to another place That lives beyond our dreams. I will wait for you.

What is between us - Wood or Earth or stones? What is between us - Flesh or blood or bone? Listen to the scarping; Rumbling and shaking. Listen to the creaking; Beating and breathing. What is between us - Smoke or wind or air? What is between us - Feather, scale, or hair? Listen to the cracking; Whistling and blowing. Listen to the wind howl. Listen to the silence.