the breach –

under lines of sacrosanct indignity

the poplar breaks -- the Storm

surges -- We

divine the Essence

of the Thing, the

thing itself -- We are here

round with

Incision and glorified in back alleys

and tumbling uphill

with all our Might -- What will

Sustain you, You

who wander on moors reciting

unsung Chants of

foreboding?