Words #2: Verse

Seal the second door to swing,
We dance, we dance, the music sings,
All to come, fall and rise, the
Bells will ring, the dancers laugh.

A flock of birds, brown and loud,
Marks their scar across the clouds,
To find the farthest, warmest nest,
My body shakes with the wanning tides.

Roll the note, tortured vibrato,
It may be the last sound on Earth,
The Seventh Day of the Thousandth Year,
When the dancers all lost their step.

The Trickster cries beneath the roots,
All treachery ripened, green, to fruit,
Losing time in buckets, hours in tears,
He will Arise, have no fear.

Not at all brought to you by Mr. Cummings.