I live by the great sun

occasionally surfacing

to observe the triple martyrs

as they bathe their wounds

in the springs of their sleep

 

White are the passing carriages

that house the famine poor

on their journeys of melt

 

By arrangement I will meet them

as they sup at the pole tables

I will read swiftly from the everlasting book

and clear the ash of their leavings

 

The moisture of my donation

will belong to the rains of the caves

that will shelter the voices

as they sing their cradle songs

 

My horse will descend

the pumice cliffs

of the orange worlds

still warm in their destruction

the dusts will obscure

the curiosity of the dead

as they write their letters

that will conceal his name

 

The scribe doves

will sand my dreary limbs

as I return from my long wanderings

 

They will be caged on my return

as I detail my travel to each

my plain brother

my sister of colour

 

1998