Thursday, 5 April 2012


Or, deep north at last

I fed the glider-sparrow
of the barge’s gable fair
– a fare in far north lands –
of waves its blood:
sand-riders out on surf
horses of the body’s sea
were well aware
of what I had achieved.

Many retinues,
companies of fierce
retainers, came to visit me
all on account of this:
my little twigs,
arms and martyred legs,
as well as foliage-fetters
from the nut-tree of fear.

From afar, across
the play of flashes
from sword-sparks’ source
on the waves’ clear earth:
seated on quartz, I,
in the shade of trees
who show their wan-joy love,
it whispered the un-name.

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