Lay me down in the waters.
You see there is the space
For the procession of daughters
Whether dark or fair of face.
The ritual you dream of at midnight
Is only minutes away.
For nothing is more out of sight
Than a procession in midday.
The swirling skirts of mystery
Will rustle against the rocks
Praising past instances in history;
Weeping at the memory of pox
Every instant is passed down here
That ever happened to a woman
Ever searching for the incoming seer
Are they, to save the future of their kin
You will not spy them, though
Just see the ripples as they enter
And there away they shall go
In and out of the universe's center.