'Kyrie Elieson' chanted winds to water...
Strangled muffled-silent bedrock
When, manacled and shackled, it screeched,
'I will become...
The lifting rock, sightless,
In mist-flown premonitions.'
One heard...one saw...
Searing, scraping talons
Raking years in sacrifice for
'Christe Elieson...'

Winds did not pray
Upon waves this day...
For the Dragon
Knew thirst.

elysabeth faslund

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/origin-of-the-flame-3/