Shadow hands dance the bird dance
While songs grip the light
Whose existence depends on whom
A matter of strife and breath
I winnowed by lute until it whistled
And parts were known in every thistle
Silent feet whose bloodlines showed
Veins and gravity are not snow
I wonder then how we were
In pasts before the rotting glow
Underneath the undertow
I make the dream into the know
Never believe the wrong is blight
Desert candles are first flight
Wings on wind and wretched bone
Battle hymned on testy tones
Roman Ryan 