A horse rides in the midst of mind and sand,
Ne gaze neath the hooves from whose rider brew,
A sudden madness, and the drops of rain short.
Give commas and colons an argument present,
A lady in waiting strangled by fate is fought,
Ye give reasons he should not pass you by,
Ne friend, ne breathing not, ne thinking nor
Shall he picture a woman hoisted at sea,
Nor from the east, nor of the west at bay,
From afar he watches tears of grace befallen,
A storm in heart breathes ripples yet slow,
Yet breathing in the water is a lidless word,
And a cracked Earth whose ground it shakes,
I’m breathing water and drinking a harsh cold,
Give me all figs that God had so me concealed,
Let these waves of words wash upon your figure,
Crash that dress in white till salty urchins reap,
Whose Madonna I perverse a niche figure retain,
Do your eyes not give leave your gaze upon a sky
So rich in spoils of hope and colour you lay waste?

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