"wolves, worms"
two old grey spectres moved
on old grey killers' legs
through a moss-dark wood,
knowing that the path stirred open for them
where they moved toward ceremony¯
it wasn't a fast food odyssey.
it wasn't a border-war.
they grimaced, but a panther smiled
in their failing heart-tendons.
summer was burning in a spruce,
curling it green.
everywhere that water found itself
water cried, "where the hell is home?"
finding itself lost, delighted.
rocks, shut houses,
didn't pretend to have fallen
from the sky¯they certainly didn't
pretend mortality. sun-shone sea-wind
shocked them with shells, in the hot heart
of the green land: grass-tears, rain-juice,
spells. time guffawed in a coma
and as for the wolves, worms
held many days of prayer
for the memory of their spirits,
before gnawing them into infinity.
KS
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