Beings who know themselves.
T’was where I was standing, with Molly wavin’.
In confinement – self ‘n solitary –
there sits a child.
“The cosmos, then, was chaos…”
Little song. Short song.
? ( … )
Let sekhem and sesheshet sing in beat-procession, ringing through these ‘glyphed papyrus-reeds!
O’er th’aural landscape rest the guiding waves.
Told through tense interpretation, their tales light the night and meet the morning.