Poem 58: We Sleep On

down the candle spread
of shivered time
past plush Sunday praise
the peeling chariot blond
tracks the foundling shawl
and the adder sleeps on

along the furrow point
of sanded sky
men of thistled hair dancing
on the prongs of night
drank the brooms deadly wine
and the adder sleeps on

beside the molten catch
of netted shade
the label rippers claw
saw the angel bleak tomorrow
tear the cross of twine
and the adder sleeps on

above the fretted pit
of dolmen fleece
the standing goat holds court
as strangled bells ring
the forgotten saints no name
and with the adder

we sleep on.