When wiping sweat
From the Hamlet’s skull’s forehead
Look closely
At those furrows of Doubt
Not immediately perceptible
Somewhere there is a path
To a stream
Which first taught you
The truth of besieged souls
And mean people
Who march
Pretend it doesn’t concern them
Make for a temple
Dress in jewellery
Sleep like newly born turtles
Calmly and light
‘Cause the Skull devours
All the spare Heavens
All the true Prophecies
2000
***