who hoards upon our pale white streets?
no more wounds of steeple, pyre, and Spring.
we shall offer all our hunger
walk taller than the seven trees
of Aspen through the tremble of a breeze.
new light for old
that we might wander earth each night alone.
five elements of fire.
each half-way house a castle
where hides the sullen temper
of the lovers and their arms
to lay aside their ghosts as mothers do.
we no longer hear the laughter from a lung.
too distant now the shadow from the fog;
too many strangers red as Rook
now hook the mouths of Salmon,
with a wooden god to feed.
I have witnessed both,
the glory and the kiss.
to shoulder arms in silence
now the bitter wind of war
know\'s sun and moon by many other names;