fragment

 

Wherever the yearworn mandrake grows,
Amid thistles and gathering green mistletoes,
The manifestations of grief-engorged ghosts
Suffuse the cool air with their shifting shapes.

The thorn-threaded thistles atop the grassless knoll
Have wound themselves about the men whose long years
Are buried there beside the totem pole,
Where was erected eight tall ...

Beyond all bounds of space and centuries
Where demons of the ancient ages mass
To vie and gloat their victories
Vainglorious but fragile...