the cracked sky blares crooked and the well is dry
there are children in the dust
they all sing a scattered song
their words are diffused, they corrode like rust.
a dead sparrow's bones don't lie -
a reflection of the sky -
the earth a slim used up man
with a pocketfull of wicked fingers
knows the road yet casually lingers
his feet licking the sand

no shadows now to crouch salvation,
all is well and all is wise.