Medicine reviving all the ailed and wounded
Barrels of antidote
thick bright liquid.
And behind the wash they fall in overwhelming relief.
The cured ones float; viscous pool of sunset
Overflowing, flowing over, one upon the other.
Yes, yes, yes!
Like from your land that gave birth to you, Aster!
Bellowing river - a new tributary!
Here we have made medicine.
Painter’s stroke,
stroke of an artist
I am the hand, you the brush.
Textured brilliance
The parchment the ground they cover.
Blind eyes opened --
Beautiful and bright, wide with new, healed knowledge.
Turgid minds bombarded
Soaked in the bright of the earth’s new light.
Almost golden, the sky reflects
Massengrab regen bogen.
My tool of intention, my tool of incantation
Help to cleanse away woes, as it was said.
Facets of iridescent hills,
Behind them faces,
Glowing and shimmering the veil.
Under facets, faces
The hills donned in crowds of color
Painted souls are just the start
Out of blank the currents rise
And the one called appears
Summoning the summoned
The haze rolls in exhaling him
Singular expansion
The aid from above, from both of us
Painted souls are just the start
of what we could restore.

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS