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The sun is high
It floods the land with its extraction of the warming dark
That clings to us from sleeping
The colours flee the grasp of morning
As it turns into the chilling heat of midday
Harsh and beating

The stones beneath our feet scream slowly
The grass is stepped upon
Its gleaming life is spent

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The shock of innocence
Diluted in the years that pass for wisdom
In these lives that mock their makers
The grasp of essences
That waft beyond our knowledge or our care
Or our skill outside our dreams of purloined acres

The dirt beneath our nails is gnawing at our nerve-ends
The wax inside our ears moves on
The phlegm behind our throats
Is thrusting out its tendrils to the light
The ignorance of this has gone

The skin falls slackly
From the flesh that once was muscled now has atrophied
And hangs in folds of anger
The eyes are glazed, the legs are stiff, the mouth is dry
The teeth are clenched to hide
The colours of the chancre

The stones beneath our feet outlive us in their laughter
The grass springs up as if anew
This sun is high
It floods the land that lives without our sweet consent
The colours iridesce in you
The sun is high
It beats at lives that have not started
As we lie in earth of saturated hue


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