We were missing the inner music.
One held a bowl of earth. It blazed.
We wondered of the steam.
When did it rise? And does it relent.
She knows something but will not.
How long the road. I am done, one said.
Our heads, the eyes. It hurt to look.
We used to hear what would play––
to ease the burden, brew the blood.
Not done, came another, saying wait.
