But with what wonder has the season come?Its treasure lies in earthen ships,that carry dreams across the foam.And how your memory of Sarah rapesthe fleshly heart that once bore scenes,now veiled in smoky stains of tears;it cries as on its crutches leans,and ever fills itself with fears.Be born anew to taste the skyLay waste cocoon and upwind fly.
Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal from the Edge of Darkness
born, cocoon, dreams, fear, fly, season, sky