Septic Flesh

From inside a cloud with the shape of a grey owl
Scanning down the hill of an indian sacred site
I can see a figure with hair white like snow
The polar crystal breath
Gyrating around the pyre like planet in orbit,
Around the burning mass of a life giving sun
Following the ways of the ageless
Parallel not our paths can cross
In a shower of meteor storm
As you have sung for me
Now I sing for you
As you have welcomed me