Grendel's Breath

Take back your bloodied rusty ring--
bled white cold conquering spirit
robbing air, and break it;

Give us back our green grass
and scavenged breath--
Grendel's Best...

Evict your ravenous gypsy moths and free our bark,
for their strings make no song
save the slow disappearance of leaves.

It crawls through me as sundown's ice dances
in the locked limbs of these restless dreaming pines
and screams,

Drive this ghost to the ground,
for evry cataclysm lurks
and city limits are monuments
in the dark to the dark
with lights on fire like the rest of it.

And that dragon's gold and cold coil scales
always other us to death leaving throngs alive
with collapsed mosques and shantih's to implode
the ohms in a rough lithography of trees...

Snapping back against time,
our fermions crushed--annihilized,
but we will be bosons between the planets
and feel the pull beneath dust to the fifth world.

Under the recession of noon
the will within our blood
flows out--forgotten among cold rocks...
but something there survives in balance
to grow and shred the redwoods
(or any other lilies milling)
and coughs up keys of a fiery furnace.