Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Crop Circles

I lay awoke in the heart of my sowing
Counting the nights, saving the dots and dashes,
I lay awoke, like the owl
Witnessing the murmurs in the undergrowth.

Nocturnal, they call me, they,
Who sold their fields for gold,
Refused I, for no crop circles,
No math, no ink for this little pledge,
Would make me sleep, as He opens the door.