On the stream falls the rain   
 pickaxe pickaxe   
 from the peaks to the sea   
 roll the future   
 from the sea to the source   
 the memories flow back   
 childhood bubbles    
 mirrors of hearts     
 Stardust   
 tough on clay.  
    
 Beneath the metonymic arrogance   
 of an astronomical time   
 stuffing a green tambourine with   
 the high waves   
 from the harbor pier   
 water drops 
 sculling   
 as the grain passes   
 braid the mucilage of our eyes   
 fresh watercress of hope.  

      
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