And not a day later that makeshift post line tied would deliver oft
June Awake! It’s only eight
Come on you waif!

And that morning
They'd crawl from their bunks
To a campsite among
An ocean of sun-baked rows of corn

To green wide plains
Dusty white rock roads
Wiry low weeds grow bristled like a bonny's tousled hair
Her salt-skin jig upon the summertide of Illinois
A sweat and amber scent through the balmy open air

The bright proud sun through the tent top towns
Manic light yells down and everything around yew bows
An ash tree shrouds hot skin, wet from the creek
Where the sky meets the ground now to baptize the week in humidity

Such a humble place for the birth of the world!
A supply store church, a congregation of corn
A dandelion psalm; among clover and chicory
Grazing hands while they stand, a secret-tongue accrete

A gnomon-mound-Cahokia-finger to the wind
The shadow in its wake is the line behind a pen
Contrast on the paper rightly metes our when and where
Now go carry boy the compass, for she brought along the square!
Draw a bound around Tiamat’s sea!
A summer crown, a pirate king, among the berry lay his queen
Come realign all history, come holler Anno Domini!
All moments lead to here, and all futures flow from now
All futures flow from now

Could it be, do you see?
Align loadstar!
A sprig of time, Byzantine!
On Troubadour!

Meru bound, a civil mare all let free
As they dance in the agora for a flicker jamboree
Those little-light-flies environ where they collide
Around the Yggdrasil a'sprout over the gate to peek inside

Queen Anne's Lace, dusty white rock roads
Wiry low weeds grow bristled like a bonny's tousled hair
A salt-skin jig upon the summertide in Illinois
A sweat and amber scent through the balmy open air

As the party rabbled on, they snuck away
And on that evening, somewhere beyond it all
An Original Line was tied

And what could exist
If not for the bliss I feel now
I feel now