What Spirit Holds The Shape?

what spirit holds the shape

of cat-gut pure as aubergine is ripe?

now the creed of heavens laughter

sings as bright as he of deaths domain.

through the lilyspeech of cantor in a rage

to the smitten tongue of years near final kiss

that burns as bright as midnight masks 

the fossils of a dull and hostile tongue.

now comes the molten sadness of the eyes

with scent of souls three acres long

two days away from the waters scant disguise.

picking petals from the flowers of release

through reeds as tall as all who search beneath

the crowding wings of albatross unseen.

more imperial than silk,our sorrow grows

from acorn to the facet of a jewel

with flesh enough to pacify 

the words of Lewes down-trodden.

spinning through the gold-dust of a star

marching with the windmills 

with our faces to the moon

to where the scattered winds of darkness loom.

under cover of the hunger deep within

what side of truth we dare to swallow whole?

where points the stars more glorious than we?

we are all but all, but serpents

of our own uncertainty;