Above us we hear the windmill yelping, circling like a trapped
dog while the house sits like a black skull on the hill. Above us
the tombs are rising from their rest and travelling along the
roads beneath trees turning sourly. Above us the wind flings
uncountable seed into the dignified light tossed through the
depths by a green moon rolling over and over in the shifting
lens of the waves. Above us nakedness stretches forever
against danger, ravishment and smoke. When we wake our
lives are on fire. Above us only our sleepy souls drifting like
reeds catching the air.

MTC Cronin

Recording

'Above Us' begins at 0:45