the music that used us
that in time refused us
as the vision and thirst
of the ground

loved the bright feather
whether or not
a breath drawn alone
makes a sound

and the vessels so broken
are still as the shadow
perfect and joyously thrown

now in their gambols
of fancy and fact
looped from the lost
to the known

blue grows the wood
that finds it's a fiddle
the reel of a name
with a trill

of badges and bandages
favored and stranded
in grace to a powerful will

and the music that used us
with rhyme will reuse us
turn to the hooded and bow

that that excecutions
excused by the sky
a breath drawn alone
must allow