The night as still as a dead serpent
In the rushes-
A car breaks the sound and
Vanishes, do dark the dawn
May never come.
I have lain here in
Awe of cherished sleep
Folded myself over and over
On the river bed, unclean
With the moan of bones.
I rose to drink from famished lips
From dreams aching with the colour and light,
Water as warm as spent wax my words
Burning speechless onto a page.
What dark matter is that
That whistles so close to the eye?
What scuttled over my face?
A bat that rushed to
Sear me with it’s wing-
A scarab beetle, beloved, that
Bore claws minute into my brain.
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