The sky looks innocent, the circling hawk
scans for a movement in the silent wood.
In shadows of the square the old men talk:
the young men have not come to any good.
A night of broken glass. A synagogue
whose doors are barred before it’s set afire.
Time’s buried body rises from a bog.
A Kingdom nods, the sleep-seducing lyre
caressed by hands that bring a giant down
before lust sends a husband to his death.
Voices whisper in a provincial town
the great seducer has grown short of breath.
Angry speeches gather the dispossessed.
Lost innocence proclaims it can be found
in one more death. Lovers leave unexpressed
uncertain vows. The hawk dives for the ground.