If, in the middle of these days, it’s time to leave,
if we consider time a mid-point, holding histories,
here is genesis, here an afterlife, and here
a map on fire.
Mineshaft, funnel, honeycombed monolith
buried in earth, nine rings of illuminated
heralds, the light blinds.
Next, a big freeze: saws, tridents, snakes.
Now the ghost-bodied eagle, the rule of
law, what recompense can follow?
Grip the talons, fingers in the sockets
of an ancient skull, soar. Hold it, this
reverence to bear other rays.