Crackling in a sermon of water
dissolving amongst the thistle
wives running free with lust
and desire for someone other than
the one they should love
and hate the end gift
after it's all done
and dark lights in olive groves
thorns instead of rosemary
does she rise, did she rise
amongst the sick greyness
in that other land?
And boys run sincere
run out of mistakes
and hold honesty in a ball
in their fallen hands
and boys in their dresses
who finally understand
how to understand
the nightshade from the vacance
and the heat in the waterpool
where sea urchins with
the softest thorns
always seem to keep on drowning.