david xeno: secrets
when i'm asleep, the cells within my brain unfurl
and speak of secrets that do not bow to lord or duke or earl
sometimes, without waking, i whisper shreds and tatters
torn from the high hymn-book of all that's good, all that matters
certain moments - not every day - say the name unnamed
the word that tells wild beasts that they will not be ruled, nor tamed
at sunset's evening bath, the purple fringed with gold
glyphs the roadsign to gentle paths, untrodden and concealed
the butterfly wakes and yawns: power of flight is gone
impossible wings are shed; colours shine no more that shone
our dreary senses grope: smeared and bleared, they falter
searching for the flame that burns shadows at life's altar