Disabled Landscapes

From the spires of an old grey tree

Swings a burial at sea

Her white limbs spilling

Out chains of flowers, golden

Heavy with bees

These signs, these houses

Are the songs, are the symptoms

Of a beautiful sickness

Poured from a vessel, dislodged

From the sails of her stomach

The ravens of dispersion

Pull covers over

The landslides and earthquakes

That hide in her hair

Silences, swimming

Under the dolphins

Rise through her waters

Like cold stars, in mourning

White marble bones in a cellar

Washed over by snowdrifts

The seaspray steals whispers

Stolen from travellers

Referring to secret enemies

One drop shall intoxicate!

The birds circling over

Arrange the cadaver

Into landscapes disabled, then

Smother them with roses