How might the nettle strike at his life
the stained glass pane in the hallway door
the statue and glimpse of the wet wood deck
said the moon on a cork tree twig
set the weed on a pile and the heap on fire
winter twisted my wing and root in the clay
in the pea hay mulch said the nettle
and the thorn of my wing was a dark green leaf
by the spike by the dropped rose petal
I will break the light on my face in a dank place
in my sleep many limbs
they were broken like stems
and their flower heads bruised
and the earth did smell
and the worm was in the dell
said the moon
in the rooms many hours
in a black phase passed
in a silence
vast as a desert
I heard the worm yelling
I saw the form and the dawn placed a hand
on an open mouth
with an open throat
the bird wore a coat in the colour of war
and the long time of peace we hoped for came at last
said the nettle
and the nettle sings
how I might pierce the skin of kings
how small things in a grass blade castle
might stop tanks
the moon in a rank sweat night was a rancid yellow
and the window gave on a slick paved stone
the impression of another ring
another
in a ring of white bone
and the fashion of talking
degree of dress
like burns
put stress on the body of the lamb
and the man goes bleating in the sick field
the moon said cold
said angry
said hold
in the advance of the nettle
advance
retreat
as immaculate
as a tool
as a puppet
as steel
as a biopsy
the nettle glittered in a splinter of a second
all it saw was an island
for a second
eternity
said the moon in a cut in the cloud
in a gin soaked shroud
in a heaven
made of peace lit from the east
the stinking rut is a love
as dense and great as a flood
that brings death to the coast
and the gut of the host tears at the crease
new life is yet alien to the grip
of this beautiful grief
and the nettle said come said come
and embrace me I will break your light
on my face
fall in tatters and streamers
and the letters of lovers at my feet
in a thousand years of spottled waste
fall in a thousand pearls of hardened hate
on my pricks like dew
do not fear the drop or the taste
nor the weight of time
I am underneath you
do not fear the ground of shame
and disgrace and I
I will lift you up again
so the nettle and the moon
dance in a metal room
and dance in heaven
