Song
Between the hilltops there’s nearly nothing.
I’ve heard there are cats in the dales, stalking
Birds that barely know the lavender’s scent.
The purple heads congregate and recall
The raw power of wolf legs, the royal horn,
And the earth-fear of the bears crowned in frost.
But the song-maidens lie in the cats’ jaws,
And the young lavender’s long murmuring
Wastes between rustle and creaking stems.
Or maybe the cats carry the beasts’ souls,
Driven feral by the maddening shriek
Of the flowerheads for the world they lost,
The birds silenced for singing of today.
