TELEGRAPH HARP

Tall tones
Toll the wire
Beasts, birds
Strum the lyre
Specters come
Sweeping through
Silver strings
Tangled fine
Mid wind
The Cut
Sublime
Strains hewn
Crosses time
Twin posts
Pulses train
Paces to
Cut’s refrain

In the Cut
In the middle of the wood
In the droned Deep Cut
I tremble divine
In the Cut
In the middle
In the middle of the wood
In the droned Deep Cut

Bard of steel
Climbs the wood
Cuts the cord
Chortles bird
Static string
Primes the bell
Beats a drone
Rings the Vale

Strange muse
Fused in earth
Trails rhythm
Train and bird
My telegraph
Of timbered oak
Timbres harp
My ears do hold

In the Cut
In the middle of the wood
In the droned Deep Cut
I tremble divine
In the Cut
In the middle
In the middle of the wood
In the droned Deep Cut

All is God
And all is good
I am parcel
Amid the wood
Where I stand
In hand, toward
The droned Deep Cut

In the Cut
In the middle of the wood
In the droned Deep Cut
I tremble divine
In the Cut
In the middle
In the middle of the wood
In the droned Deep Cut