Read by Rebecca McInroy
Think, catechists.
Watch, oracles.
The vanishing sky is suppressing you.
The pathetic lake is flooding you.
Yet you dress elaborately,
so you can contemplate time,
but you say it eroded
into zilch.
When the men slept,
their dreams became plagues -
They would astonish an intruder,
before turning
into zilch.
The raw blood
on top
was from
the sledge,
the club,
the catapult,
and then it soared beneath the suppressing sky,
before it turned
into zilch.