Birch Book The Carnival Is Empty
Cross the lot, Wave a hand
Dust off the loaded caravan
In the settled haze of morningfall
Mark the way, hark the call
The tone is dry
The note is clear
The road is wide
The passage free
The Carnival is Empty
Lift a finger, lift a chin
Lift the corner of an eye
Floating falling into sight
Adrift, the paper butterfly
Without aim
Painted wings
Gather gust
Flutter free
The Carnival is Empty
Waking has no worry then
Dreams have no sleep
A cage's edge has no name
Words have no speech
The thought is gone
The face serene
The brow is clear
The mind is free
The Carnival is Empty
