Here dance the husks
the husks of men
They dance through flames
they burn to ash
And drums they thump
The goat-skin drums
Tambourine shake
drums they thump
The fire roars
The fire cracks
Like beetle wings
crack
Shadows tall
The shadows of men
Cinder bespeckled
a dark-led dance
Mottled mothwing
Strangled halitus
This ill wind,
What horror.
Leaves, they spin
In dusk
they glide, they whirl
too dry to rot
To ash, to star
All fall down, to rust
Nothing left
to burn.
There it goes, the dust
There goes the dust
Away, the dust
It’s gone
To dusk-woven death
it’s gone.
P.S.Clinen 