The town is crouching

A field of windmills waits, their stupid heads turning

Stirring the night's bath



Bundles of vapour hang over the factories

Whose lights blink and loll like sleepy eyelids

The moth in the lighthouse breathes with its prehistoric parts

I feel the night snicker. 



It was here,

Tangled among the litter and old Valentines

I found my coma leaking

A branch punched a hole

In the quiet that was keeping me

and

Suddenly

All the sleep fell out



Rolling over the hills in a dark warm wave

Voices of the orphan choirs threaten to overwhelm

Speeding through the skeletons of trees

Pulling their bodies bent



The wind's terrible symphony tore out my longing by the toes

My ears were emptied and renamed

The balm slid off like a bubble of oil and

Died pitifully under the choirmaster's heel

I was gutted and clinging on like a dish rag ---



But so on fire with believing

That when the storm introduced itself

I put my finger in its mouth