Cushioned by the hair you swept about us
Now laid side to side, and end without end,
As we fight to entrench ourselves in firm;
While the day filters through our veil and
The sacked parts rail against us alarmingly.
Beneath the fixed and ageless face of the
Moon we sift the night the same, seeing
Less than daylight, but supplementing this
By pruning more ruthlessly, leaving only a
Map creased sheet and sweat to cover us.
Dawn and all the day’s agents return out
From the dark places they faded to, inked
And singed around the edges where they
Worked against our wire, and masked to
Do the task and test our defences again.
But all they draw is blood to service the
Floodplains of their bruises and contusions,
As we hold firm and learn the secrets of
Their weaknesses and turn these to good
Use for the inevitable surge of evening.
As again we repel and content ourselves
With night, scything keener and refusing
Sleep even now, for there will be none, not
For us, as we beat mischief and its treaties
Back so that you, in your sacks, don’t have to.