Let the cleansing begin
let the storm, the flood
the great fires
cast their voices
for the earth
Let the sounds
of the winds
that have not been heard
be carried like nets
across the mighty oceans
Let the ripping
of old white skin
hung in dark suits
be spun
into something precious
Let the unspooling
of the old woven cloth
spiral into the rising water
weaving new seeded soil
into a slit of sunlight
Let the old world
be jealous of the new
and the last fluttering of wings
be heard from
the most distant star