by Shaun Lawton
Like waves crashing on the shore
or faces sunk in darkness
between webs of the sun
below
nourished by green
stagnant pools
the ghost catches fish
with a net (the profiles of the Maya kings
are emptied) a legion
in the light of darkness
cephalopod in the eyes of a preview
or is it a completely windy spider
it whistles in diamond drops
you only protest against
for the multitude of names
the human heart is a polished
mineral, it contracts around
the transgressors sunken rosaries
from the question of the Titanic
They wait for the crowns
of the demons of the royal gardens
Oh, green bullet, eagle of the deep!
pouring forth incense, a cloud of figures
the image of the faces through the crown
of the eyes
Angels, of birds in the shredding
The ancient days of stellar parallax
extend
within a quarter of the time
to the heart
of the grave in the rebirth of the cruel
they bounce from the well-fed open holes
