When the sun and moon were in quadrature, when
the garden had become a wilderness and the clock refused to strike

When the old year died and the sand walked into
the sea with the neap tide

When you had been too long away and your old snowblue footprints
clotted and hesitated in the clay

When the worry of this undone song unsung so long
so loud my head I went inside and under to let the flood run free