Sky god, where are your wings?
Your whole visage is blue.
I sacrifice up to you my floaty things;
Lift them up, sweep them to warmth anew.
Sky god, how do you fly?
You will turn grey before long.
I gather together my coat of leaves, sly,
and prepare my nest for longer dark.
Sky god, why turn so dim?
You are weeping while there is time.
There is corn to be gathered in,
and apples to be put into cans.
Sky god, the bright sun, your eye,
She has filmed her over, obscured.
There must be time yet in this day.
I refuse to recognize the night.
Sky god, your grip on the day
is as tenuous as my own
My cellars are filled to bursting with roots.
Aromatics hang to dry in cool rooms.