offered ash to vapor.
The cold black echoes
with twinkled torches.
I give ode
to the Wod-Master's wild
camelot-crew
who round-table roar
from heaven's meadows.
The long strip of milk
dappled pointillist on onyx,
the plank for gold-toothed guardian
of warriors, once
in world wrapped up a babe,
swans pulling upon shield
lifted grain to king-teach
the craftless.
This dancing tongue erupts
from hearth's holy mouth,
calligraphs of rainbow leap,
and seers see the deepest
mysteries within.
What is offered
to the log's life smoked
and swallowed
by the sun's small spark
received, the star-scaffold's
ward carries over.
Thus those desperate
whispers over recels
heard in the halls of the high.
Stretched out o'er
that long band 'tween,
the ether is formed by prayers,
and ram-horned holy one,
with wish, shall offer
all the echoes of the ancients.
Hear prayer pooling up
in ripples. Pray.
