In the night each one of us is alone
That fucking armadillo
The book still rests in the palm of your hand
Is this acceptable?
The blind scraps are inter-weaving
Groaning, as though he was hauling the whole earth
Lashing
Tea? Coffee? Knife in the back?
The hens scattering across the yard
A thorn in the side of our field
By whose ordinance?
The bitch's heart pounds in her black chest, a hammer in the ears
Network
Until your sudden smile lingers and holds
Without the towers
A table with its shadows rises from the dust
My lover was a wonderer
Higher than the gull and the bite of the brine
Feeling the too-blue blaze of noon
They were fleeing from the bull of Bryncelyn
When the sun's on the mountain
If you ever sleep in a grave
Wheeling, and wheeling, and wheeling
Geese goose-stepping in terror, their hissing peevish from the sedges
Tugged on a tether, to the timid heifer
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