The Pantheist

The horse holds some of the answers As he breathes on a spider's swaying gossamer wall He whinnies the lost music of Eden He has stolen the gentle smile of the Mona Lisa Where does the kingfisher's soul go? Does it float to anarchic angels beyond the moon? The silence of buildings is anathema to me The glass wings of their windows Live with the pulse of clocks In the streets,treading the cobbled lanes Is like walking on frogs The speech of the media assails the ears Like being pelted by wasps At 3am visitants arrive out of the thin air To kiss my bones, eager to eat my sins Nightingales sing a requiem for a dying squirrel Meanwhilewormwoodrots the magnificent oak In the shadows, Medusa waves her braids Those hissing fork tongued snakes of terror and rage In the fragile territory of night In the hierarchy of ravens, head frighteners Rend the scarecrow in the field My dirty washing flies in the face Of wolves and daisies Only mortals know the gnaw of guilt That opens raw wounds, gives no absolution My mother's Devil waits to unlock his gates