Sheaves gazing cold — pink swans
Want to swim away,
Take in the words
And the meaning
Of seven stars
Hanging on the sky-tree,
Listening.

Now: The seven stars as fire arrows —
Down to the field.
Down,
Down —
They rush, they want to become sheaves.

Miracle. The sheaves swim off,
Sing a farewell, and forgive
The wonder-stars from afar,
Who become sheaves, crocheted into time.
And kneeling to the miracle of change —
The seven.