The room calls to me, says were all strung outn(And the beat we both stomp on the floor),nWhile outside the leopard frogs sing sweetly.nThese are the hymns that today weve ignored.nAnd all across the desert, and all up in the mountains: nA wind so loud that we might never mention.nnAnd heres to my lovers hands and feet.nThey are the roots that will weave through the floor.nAnd down in the dirt, in her wandering, nFind the snail to give us breath, to give us words.nHe asks us for our patience, he asks us for our patience,nAnd he asks us what we have done for our souls lately.nnDown by the bur oak tree, I had lost your locket in the loam,nAnd there fell to my knees, neath the coil and the brush of the fern.nnThe candles light dances across the table,nAnd will burn at the tip of my pen.nAnd lures all the moths into the kitchennTo spin tales and bend truths through the evening.nAnd scribe for them their stories; we scribe for them their stories,nWhile they wax and wax of their lives in the country.nnDown by the bur oak tree, I had lost your locket in the loam,nAnd there fell to my knees, neath the coil and the brush of the fern.