Where does a fleeing heart, that has on bruised wings
Been on the run from that which formerly gave it light,
Go when staying is a creeping blackness that begs,
Smiles, bends, and cries with an angel's white face?
Must it pass through creeks where bones ease
The passage of murky streams?
Must it climb the shapely valleys
Embraced by hills of aromatic trees?
Must it desire untimely exile
Behind the pearls of the golden city?
Must it not yet endure seasons more
Until the raven with bread,
Until the flaming messenger,
Comes with a new heart in hand?
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