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The night your spirit welled and rained

The plains flashed bright, startling

Eyes drifting through the past,

Through earlier years rapidly

Hardened beneath all-knowing clouds.

Old voices thundered

This never happened

As the sky teemed with

Droves of former fathers,

Wiping away the heaven’s white,

Flaring bones, and

Pouring upon your boyhood—

Until now, you have been a stray voice,

Amiss, garbled, rambling.

One can build a house from old bones,

One can sit idle in the doorway,

Peering out onto newly drenched

And softened land.

Boy, go stand still in that field,

Bloom radiant a new body—
Go sing your new song.