Speaking a prayer of longing and uncertainty
Delicate ground crumbles at only the thought of steps
But the drum shows there is a path
As guitars churn and chug and swirl
Weaving the singular now…

Here is a bouquet of the gathered years
The countless unfolding of momentary togetherness
Standing in circles has been so important
To ring the bounds of the ancient well
And glimpse the divine as it slips
From the flat, black waters of the underneath
This is the sunken source of many tongues
Where our sciences and our spells are but a different variety of same