The Sun,
As it yawns across the sky,
Moving among the Moon and Stars,
Warms the hands of the Earth.
From innumerable fingers stretching;
Thick, brown, frothed peat and mud,
Death and rot. Life and Filth, green and pure rise forth.
Held up by these great, cracked mired, and worn hands
To kiss the arc of the universe.
Skyward, they are moved, without themselves.
Forgetting their pedestal; swaying in the Sun's heat.
Craving and starving for it's light.
At last, at the top, hand in hand with Sun and Stars
They burn and fall away
as the Moon creeps out in the coming darkness
to guide the Hands that catch Their ashes.
