Here, and somewhere else, perhaps,

            A few will steal with brackish feet

            To pierce the irony of the just

            On this day of crusted bread and 

            Cheese that stings the tongue,

            Our nostrils twinge with fire

            But the air, saltpetre to the will,

            Brushes the insurgent breast

            Back into hiding

            As the rapacious dawn

            Of endless night,

            Creeping chameleon fluid,

            Clowns us into sleep

            And oh that night, that night –

            Once a tapestry immense

            That lay in wait for masterstrokes,

            Wild colours, mesmerising shades,

            Tumult that could rival

            Greedy stars for brilliance –

            Now reflecting the construction

            Of our diligence in nothing done

            But if we find a hovel for a 

            Facet of expiring love

            Let our tenuous insignia,

            The charred upheaval of our clutching eyes,

            Give us away

            To those who turn by chance

            And in the distance glimpse 

            A curiosity on the horizon

            And will bite their lips 

            Despite themselves,

            Of benediction unaware