You flew over Thunder Mountain,
While sleeping below.
As long as love is held
Wings won't release,
The bird will be silent,
Sleepers will sleep.
Until all identities peel away
From chrysalides
Love will be a gift
Of the conditional
To bodies still as stones
In star-webbed night
That wait to be forgiven
For having to exist,
When all that is created
Flees the womb
To be the void of bird,
Bringing thunder
Without a sound, the wordless
To the song.
