There is dust on the moon, fire in the sun, star drops falling from the sky
Rust of horizon\'s gloom, desire begun, tar mops seal a celestial ceiling up high
Watery air, earthy hands hold my feet, scent of wood everywhere
Thin clouds in webs of hair, feathery hands greet blind dreams and share
On the cross of suffering, written words of rhyme that redeem
Comfort, the enemy of poetry, a sleepiness without a dream