a kneeling voice trembles,

a kneeling voice trembles,
I don my unsheathed gold and step outside,
half-naked under the still starry sun,
and lay spread upon the metaphorical grass:
what is it that she wants today,
shinning on through the cloudy day,
with all those who turn their back from her,
sights turning every which way?
at the white-foaming mouth of the raging seas do I wash and await my answer.

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