T ha t yea r, and here on his holiday
We remember thi s as beli ef.
An o ld myth takes the form
Of an o ld fri end . Beli eve in the time
Of year. Another sta irway and the raven
Would no t have made it. Passage
Into th e sun grows more bitter.
T he windfa ll beckons the oaks,
Birth of blues is yet ano ther trade horse.
Adam was there. The wanderers map
T heir route with dry stars, ano ther
Rounder woman appears. Now
We are dealing in spellbound ho rses.
Her heart was long, rectangul ar
In
its praise. Sheep dogs
Bark a t the stabl es, it is cl ea r
And cold, and the stars are wet.
Witches were burned before.
T he caller must answer.
In
the wilderness, down by the shrubs,
Dwarfed dreams sometimes ca tch on fir e.
Sma ll skull s have been dug up,
And large steeples buri ed.
A lo t o f Carbon-14 was invo lved.
T he steps are soft er stone, the view
Is decent. They have sought requi em
In
the rooms overl ooking
The sulphur deposits. Ano ther mi st
Is ca rri ed over, fini shed off by sleep.
Requi em is a lso for the raven who sometimes
Ca tch es on fire when Adam bends the li ght.
