From drowning sky, I hear you. From burning ground, I see you. From buried waters, I touch you. Though without time and place. Though without point or purpose. I reach my hands out to the last star of the morning. Some raise their taloned limbs. Some insight violence. Others close their eyes to sleep. I can not believe. Doors are marked with crosses by claws. From the well and the altar and the pool and the mound, I hold you in my arms.
