Jeff Buckley
Beneath the Southern Cross
Oh
To be
Not
Anyone
Gone
This maze
Of being
Skin
Oh to cry
Not any cry
So mournful
That
The dove
Just laughs
And
The steadfast
Gasps
Oh to owe
Not anyone
Nothing
To be
Not here
But here
Forsaking
Equatorial bliss
Who walked
Through
The callow mist
Dressed in scraps
Who walked
The curve
Of the world
Whose bone
Scraped
Whose flesh
Unfurled
Who grieves
Not
Anyone gone
To greet lame
The inspired sky
Amazed to stumble
Where gods
Get lost
Beneath
The southern
Cross