Spring
On the water the first wind
Breaks it all up into arrows
The dead bowmen buried these many years
Are setting out again
And I
I take down from the door
My story with the holes
For the arms the face and the vitals
I take down the sights from the mantle
I'm going to my uncle the honest one
Who stole me the horse in the good cause
There's light in my shoes
I carry my bones on a drum
I'm going to my uncle the dog
The croupier the old horror
The one who takes me as I am
Like the rest of the devils he was born in heaven
Oh withered rain
Tears of the candles veins full of feathers
Knees in salt
I the bell's only son
Having spent one day in his house
Will have your answer