Music and the Dream

All around the sun 

The children are rivers,

A plea in the touch,

Reluctant as all warnings 

To endless trails 

Of carved hours 

In a Friday of liquid tongues  

The wires are grounded in a floating cross

For the speculator upholding loquacious stammering,

By the eye 

To the breath 

Unyielding cloth,

An axe to waters 

As phantom dawn,

Such subtle romance 

Of loose sight, creaking shades, stomping heat 

Trees of your majesties enclave 

Blue, may never die 

All streets know midnight desolation 

And therefore wish starbound.