South Hole
Hartland
So worship fire.
So worship
absence of fire.
The martyrs
were never cold
enough;
they roofed
their huts
with culled
teeth. They were
cribs of veins
waiting
for the sea
to remember
them. Then
the sea
remembered
them. Play
the motif
with the prayer
hand: wolf
tone, the guard
sound.
O thorn now
I am teaching
you. Now
you are learning.
