the seventh day

[banondraig]

here again the seventh day
the moon hangs low in the west
silver bow, virgin-thin
the sun down for the night
stars are arriving
it is Your night, O Lady
i remember, though i cannot rest
i remember, though i cannot dance
i remember, though i cannot sing
i remember, even under a roof
that You are the source of all things.

[banondraig]

the moon waxing, at its peak

the dates lie at the feet of the palms,
trodden into the sand and gravel

the nights grow cold
the days shorten

birds call to each other
the flies have returned for the fall

i am in my box

from under my net,
i can't see all the stars
the prison lights drown them out

the smoke of burning refuse is nightly on the air
thick and choking
the distrust abounds

o lady, the fruits of these sands are ignored
they have no meaning
to those who have not known want
or hunger

o there is no work, but the work is never done
it drains my soul
to sit waiting for the rain
here the heavens are too scorched to cry

o the pain is better than the numbness
o the hunger is better than the numbness
the dead cannot starve
the closed mind does not smother
broken legs do no dance

dreams are calling
will i remember them when i wake?