In the ritual eye of The Crow Storm
We huddle here in The Cave of Wires
Whispering shadow prayers to Norns
Reading pig iron prophecies in fires
We once sought the lore of highlands
Tales of fertility scribed in still faults
We hunted elk horns in Jade Sands
Enchanted flesh, curing it in sweet salts
There came a day like no day of days
Falling star cries deafened the noon sky
Hemlock geysers broke, boiling the fay
We saw beauty’s engram wither and die
Who calls the wanderer home?
Who lights the signal fires?
Who comforts the comfortless vanities?
It is morning in The Cave of Wires.