And though our bones, they may break And our souls separate, why the long face? And though our bodies recoil From the grip of the soil, why the long … - Joanna Newsom

Recall the word you gave:
to count your way across the depths of this arid world,
where you would yoke the waves,
and lay a bed of shining pearls! I dream it every night:
the ringing of the pail,
the motes of sand dislodged,
the shucking, quick and bright;
the twinned and cast-off shells reveal a single heart of white.

Joy! Again, around—a pause, a sound—a song:
a way a lone a last a loved a long.
A cave, a grave, a day: arise, ascend.
(Areion, Rharian; go free and graze. Amen.)
A shore, a tide, unmoored—a sight, abroad:
A dawn, unmarked, undone, undarked (a god).
No time. No flock. No chime, no clock. No end.
White star, white ship—Nightjar, transmit: transcend!

A feather of a hawk was bound
Bound around my neck
A poultice made of fig
The eager little vultures pecked