In exile complete,
I watch from a cove
perched on the edges of a firth,
as ripples elongate & wain
‘til blown through the rain & passway.
At the Eastern perimeter of the District
great gardens deliberate & glow.
Scattered in cold cliffs of stone,
we work like fishermen on the thatch
w/ leathered hands
‘til we find the catacombs
& breathe the dust that rattles through our sinews.
dozing on concrete sills of time,
a thousand rain-filled hours
w/ voices echoing through our underground barracks.
At high noon,
Before another wave is complete,
the mind folds like origami
& we are gnarled like the shadows of eagles
who like a fist of beacons in the sky
are attempting to rise
over this acid geometry
& aquatical monolith
of arches & bends,
nooks of powder
…a point of diminishment, our boredom perpendicular,
our sweated elbows dripping rust into the sea……….
into shallow craters,
the pools are rising to the bare knees of an alien vessel,
we swear it…
At night the crisp moon,
it has borne witness
to these mad confrontations
& to toils in the shadows
& honoring the debts of townsfolk
it is our witness
salvaging from their pints of bitter,