Poem: Advent - Harold Budd

The advent of arrows foreshadows the dream

The serpent’s shaft of tourmaline

The spark of grief for a life unseen

It’s the spider’s eye of tourmaline

A garland of glances, what might have been

The brazen symbols of tourmaline

To stand aloof in a field of dreams

The serpent knows tourmaline

The spider says, «I'll mark the seams»

But the serpent knows tourmaline