The Gift

On a seabed full of echoes; lay your gift to me.
A voice aloft on a night of diamond hail.

While I, petrified waltz, tread the lightening sap
And sift through the gloom unsighted;

You come dancing on quartz and ghastly sparks;
Coating all desolate branches a tight ribbon red.

With your voice, the gift, a tower’s dull clang;
That could in fact be, the last great heartbeat of a star;

Heat this turbine heart with every word a chord.
I’ll look ahead with a chest that swallows in blind flight.

And as another youthful shudder is steadied,
Upon a deep sea hilltop you’ll sing, oh you’ll sing to me;

An unthinking hymn, that might yet set a descending one free.

Dawn

Dawn it sounds a diamond sound.
It swaggers round its moonlit crown.
Dawn the starlight aftertaste.
Guzzling queen.
Floored black robe in a rugged heap.
Swift the trills cry from day’s swollen mouth.
Night’s bridges ablaze.
The vanquished greys.
Hot-blooded those beams
Sinking heavily,
Into ivy coats.

At the Foot of the Night

We’ll assemble it here;
At the foot of the night.
The amber backfire.

We’ll gather holy dust;
When all tunnels have lost
A sun’s far-off song.

We’ll hear the glassy howl
One late whirlwind tail.
While mirrors bowed yawn.

We’ll assemble it here;
At the foot of the night.
With a sound like ours in flight.

On Westminster Bridge

On the bridge where ghosts hang heavy
With shadows and bells.

A man doomed will make his murder
All wheels despair.

Discordant reach, a red arched rage;
It’s figures they lay.

The vulnerable ebb soon spent
As shots ring three.

Loud cabinet lock cackle, let all souls heed.
And with blackest of gates; come clatter; come grin.