Can’t get away from preoccupations. The Oracle isn’t in the business of consoling, she just tells it like it is.
Are these drunken dreams
really of red meat dripping,
life no more than eating, day on day,
licking bloody drool?
Storm whispers from the sky,
no light in these shadows.
Please stop the black rain
into light from dark,
like rain falling on roses,
the true nature of what lies beneath
moon, sun and bright stars
is here in this dusk, this dawn,
chanted in the deep night voice
of the wind through the trees.