Poem 79: Between the Loud Wars

dear lady watch dove
vaguely watching
for a soft walking
between the loud wars
it cannot be now,
no more than your
flowered carpets of peace
brave from the opiates bloom
on the night thinkers cowl,
for the moons elbow
has formed his curved tooth
in the barren caves
of dog pool light,
and the wishing Isles of craft
play seek the stranger game
for a favoured smile
from the many dead faces
that make up your salted mask
and many is the dart
in cloth holding
that will come up before long
to pierce your dreaming eyes
now held on lofty cathedral towers
all guarding
their long sleeping knight savants
they will not come up
forever to protect
your gentle greenwood strolling
for pity, your minstrels lute
is all dead leaves now
a masque in golden tambourine
waiting to sing watch now,
for the changelings birth
and his giant drum walking
between the loud wars.