The wind scours the desolate earth
Flaying turf and churning surf
The literal and figurative ablution
Is made
But not yet the offering
Or the prayer
Because the way is unclear
You look for an omen
Like the old kings
And contemplate
Advance and retreat
Fight or flight
Waiting for The Lamplighter
In his own sweet time
To show you the sign.
---o0o---
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