Sculpture

Beyond our present stratum

On plains ensconced with thimbles sway,

Does yellowed and ochred age lie

Entwined yet estranged in arms so young

As misty night-grief.

Warm my toast as black as death

And mutter incontentment as you would like

But not until the last ember has fallen

Will you realize the vendetta of a passing cavalier.

In Paris and Ure they gallop free

But over shiny glass the hooves slip:

An artificial redemption for one

So prompt as greed.

Heffers speak as die their calfs -

From a cold yawning they are awakened

And all you do is stamp and mutter;

How pleasing propped our idleness

Which now lies fallow

Shaking with hoar and frost,

As you sing and drink away another year.

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