When Beyond the Furious Clouds


When demagogues create the dawn,

when teeth are bared in ready grins

& our palms gloved by leather,

before the trucks begin to roll,

before the crowds’ blood roar

& the crying in the streets,

before the word is broken,

the pennons muddied,

& the sky laved with fire…

Those were the days

of martial parades,

of legions & lexicons.

From each whorled fingerprint

we cast worlds of thought

taut as pennons on the wind.

Those were the nights

of spontaneous conspiracy

beneath the sheets,

of flight upon the bed,

our arms ready & linked

in the sun’s first splinter.

Now the art of flight is lost,

arms toppled into the sea,

the populace become the rabble.

Now our prints are smudged

by a rain of ashes

& petals of madness flare.

When serried columns pass & pass

in ranks unending,

when violence scales the walls

& outside a dirty snow is falling,

flake after flake the same,

when beyond the furious clouds

we can no longer be sure

the heavens remain.