First and last, who towers above all,
may we sculpt your silence with a new song?
Who hovers low over the ocean swell,
may we ripple your stillness with whispered entreaties?
Who lies buried under fields of forgotten dreams,
may we rekindle your joy with praying lips?
Afternoon: The Breaking of the Vessels
The smoldering mountain moves, it roars, shudders,
shaking off unwanted pious courtesies.
A hard northwesterly chops the wintry seas,
and sharks scent their prey, a drowning man.
Forked lightning strikes a once-sacred oak,
its bole is split, its branches burnt and scattered.
A new year has dawned, you have pardoned all sins,
Now gather us H’, take us under your wings.