Voices were heard in the wilderness,
– hallowed, a place to drink –
caught on the crest of the ages
to plunge and recede to ink.
One was the lion’s gold and breath;
One was the kingly star;
One was the flame-ringed berry bush
where the wild things are.
One was the sad, red-threaded goat;
One was the crying sheep;
One, the sign that rejoiced the clouds
while the world was sunk in sleep.
One was the stag, the fountainhead;
One was the flying bird.
Such were the voices making way
for the word that no one heard.