The Circle

I am looking for a soul –
digging loads of broken bones –
for I need to soak it
into raging waters.

I am standing on the edge
waiting for the summer rain,
for I need to wash my
dirty blackened face.

I am walking in the field
of the golden rye,
for I need to feel the
purity of ripeness.

I am holding in my hand
a trembling drop of life,
for I need to see it
hitting ground the last time.