Earth spun spells— golden corn

stalks stand in the stillness,

ears stretched in rhyme.

Beside oceans of time,

the crack of an axe, fills this

broken, smoothened skull, torn,

torn by time, torn by earth,

let the seed die in the darkness,

again, near kirkyard fields,

where fruits of the harvest yields

sacrificial meal.  Then work this

bread into body, into rebirth,

© Nathan Wirth 2004