The rumours have you, anger brilliant At my peril, I of course misdoubt Rain falls like wolves Chasing lithe bare earth In gouged ochre Upraised in spirals There is a smell of rags and cans Of death and lightning As if the carcass, ripe for burning, summoned storms We cross in the weft, to a greased unconsciousness Hollow where the water Flows through mouths like fishes A jar of reeds to catch A kind of stillness At last you come Out of a yellow evening Leeches bright on your skin Offering in swollen fists Broken pomegranates Not for me, not, for me A cattle stink The dragonflies drone out A passing train i have come to watch you drown, not catch a fish
