underworld

[fahye]

we spent this morning carolling the dust
from every corner of our mouths,
words unbelieved but soothing for the skin
with talk of snow and holly dreams;
these otherworlding winds and symbols writ
on gilded card. salvation for the blood
that comes from green and pleasant lands
far from the city of Jerusalem;
born singing stern and drifting now
across an island wrapped in salt,
alone and sunburnt to the core.

our own dear heat pulls scent from pine
all lightly garlanded with history,
with gleaming string. no colours here
but these: brute red the dirt, pale gold the grass
and green the wish in hopeless hearts
who scan the lovely sky for rain.

we spent this morning hiding from the air;
we watched the shadows shrink and turned
like fools to hotter flames,
believing in the mythos of our meal;
baked heat into the house
then slid the ice across our tongues
and called forth winter laughs.

another scrap of paper sticks to feet
unshod and lazy stretched like tinsel bows.
tape sticks like guilt and wattle gum,
like wine sticks in the throat,
wine lifting the horizon bare:
a soft broad oneness indistinct and warm
sings glory in the thirsty earth,
a glory in the sheets laid wet against my cheek
then pegged and billowed by the breeze,
sings glory glory hallelujah to the age of trees
slouched silver green and steady, dazed
and thinking charcoal thoughts at highest noon.

beneath our careless hearts, our shallow thanks,
the year goes tense -- awaits its end
and bares its browning limbs beneath the sun.