We are the flight-birds, wheeling our cries
over a stark and barren world.
We have wings of steel and eyes of pale
moonlight, and we hunt in the noon-time
for chariots and herons, not having
slept during the night for fear
that our dreams would come and haunt
us during the day.
After we hunt, we sleep amongst
a pile of stones, sapphire, basalt,
concrete, and ruby, and we see the world
as it always was, but could never be dreamt.