Nothing is left on my hands
But some crumbs
And some dough
So eat heartily
Yesterday, I raised them and the rain fell
And the stones turned into bullets in my hands
Yesterday, I touched the hissing head
And the poison flame faded
off
And the coaches of fate returned
Yesterday, I walked on her back
Believing that the harvest of rain
Would return to my home
That my fortress was well-guarded
That His scale would not take a side
And if it did
He was there, watchful
Yesterday, I called the stars to my table
And they came, adorned with flowers
To present the moon to me
I called upon the clouds
And they filled my wells
And a river flew in my gardens
I planted in the heart of the roads
Minarets of light and towers of perfume
For the coaches of dark
To slip away between the horizon's crack
For morning to show up, with a shy face
Full of dew
Yesterday, I raised them
For pigeons to perch upon
To pick the wheat of hope
Here they are now, raised
And the clouds pass by
Blind, deaf
And nothing rains
But our tears!
O travelers through the scorching years!
O dreamers of a kind summer's cloud!
O thirsty people!
The clouds have no eyes any more!
So, travel in the scorching years
Lost!
