Poem: Advent
Harold Budd
The advent of arrows foreshadows the dream
The serpent's shaft of tourmaline
The spark of grief for a life unseen
It's the spider's eye of tourmaline
A garland of glances, what might have been
The brazen symbols of tourmaline
To stand aloof in a field of dreams
The serpent knows tourmaline
The spider says, "I'll mark the seams"
But the serpent knows tourmaline