sing loud the counted days.
the erect arm; the point of stars;
to the word; one sage of world,
turning tides, empty as the air;
with light we come to turn,
from matter into mass;
where weaves; so shall we spin,
pale as skin; paler than the cross.
breathless men in glass-house womb
more wounded than the sky;
where flies the sun
no hidden mass dare follow;
the stars have eyes!
eyes greater than the life it shields;
this life;
where day\'s once gone
comes day\'s of second chance;
the erect arm; the point of stars;
sing loud these counted days;
the mountains on the moon cannot be felled,
nor grow it\'s branches earth and back,
through the twisting tail of fate;