Oil

Sun Tree. Beginning God in a thicket. Crown. 
Never-abdicated constellation Blood.
Barn-clutch of life Trigger of the future.
Magic weed the doctor shakes in the dance 
Many rains and many rivers, making one river 
Password. Installation Root of tongues.

Working-place to which the small seed is guided, 
Inlet unvisited by marine biologist,
Entire alternative in man and woman 
Opening at a touch like a water-flower,
New voice saying new words at a new speed 
From which the future erupts like struck oil,

No one can migrate across your boundaries.
No one can exist without a habit for you 
No one can tear your thread out of himself.
No one can tie you down or set you free 
Apart from your tribe, there is only the dead, 
And even them you grip and begin to use.