The moth and sheep agree that dust is for the dead.
    The sailor and violets agree that the cane is for the wind.
    Ships heavy with the weight of spoons
    will worship your hair.
    The iron will come from the confessions of history.
    Trees will forgo their memories of boulevards
    for the destiny of your waterfalls.
    This is where horses will land
    in their dreams of falling.
    The salt will come from the hatching of old loves.
    Soot will be the onion's offering.
    Your banks will be the hem of the skirts of stars.
    Those with great debts will write
    the songs of bread in your castles.

    You will be both king and queen. The enmity of lambs
    will be decided at your fingertips.
    You will teach children.
    You will raise the fallen and heal the sick.
    You will take from the mountains and give to the valleys.
    You will be dressed in the clothes of righteousness.
    Flutes will be your descendants.
    All who live in your house shall have much to partake of.
    Around you the seagulls' hearts will be filled with fish,
    their beaks with great mercy.

Copyright © Eva Skrande, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.