Days Upon the Year – Hymn to Set

Neb.y:
As your Wind blows, grains of sand scour my skin clean.
I have no need for natron; I am pure, I am pure, I am pure.
As the Lands turn Red with the setting sun,
I am afire with your purpose.

Neb.y, Who Is in the Heart of the Great Houses:
I am Larger than I used to be.
I would Support the Sky for all the Gods,
I would stand at the Tip of the Barque, and
My hair is Red.

Neb.y:
I hold my head High.
Son of Nut, Son of Geb, on This day and
On all days, you are the Beautiful Child.
And I am Hem(t)adpmt.

I am most fortunate.

Susurrus

You were in the dream I had, all heat and shifting sands;
I could hear each grain move against the others with your steps.
Your breath was the burning wind, even as your face was hidden from me
In the gathering clouds.

If I could paint you, in all your glory, my strokes would stripe the canvas,
My colors would convey radiance and movement, awe and change;
Eyes seeing it would fall into an awful depth of vision.

If I could write you, in endless phrase and stanza, my notes would fall like pounding rain,
My phrases would be building crescendo on crescendo, agonizing fermata after fermata;
Ears hearing it would fall into an awful depth of resonance.

Awful is an agonizing state, though it has its benefits.