Holy fire come light my bones
with words that wound
and strong sound
and lowings lifted like cattle-moans.
Open skies decry the rain
that settles in
soft as sin
to burst and bud in flowering pain.
Past the churning sightless brook
lies that fell down
like a blighted nameless crook.
In tattered rags my lover lies
a sight made sore
my eyes pour
and something flickering in me dies.
No craven shadow will I hold
with brazen bonnets clutching cold.
Grow strange this night averse and cool
that now at last
new found past
leads this faithful following fool.