The words pour out in blue torrents,
bright cascades shimm’ring with starlight,
rainbow-winged, skimming like swallows,
they cling to the brief, bright thrumming
of a heartbeat’s steady drumming,
all swept up in the fierce current,
rushing blindly into nightfall.
Catch the wild wind and enchain it,
for the tales it tells are worthless,
building dreams of dust and ashes,
that rain will wash to the river.
Night brings no balm to the weary,
nor with joy fills the shrivelled husk,
for red dawn breaks ever harder,
when the day will flow no farther
than the next dull clouded dusk.