The evening sighs,
Groans and unleashes a sonorous
Howl like a wounded beast.
Above, the grey regiments march
East heavy with ammunition.
The air is still.
The ingredients for a Shakespearean
Tempest are in the great mixing bowl.
A quick legerdemain
And the sheep are drenched
And the fields gulp down heaven's blood.
The trees dance and sway indecently
To the morbid samba-
A harsher number than yesterday's salsa.
But it's over as quick as a
Bad bedroom performance. Blue
Windows open in the grey canvas and stage
Lights from the empyrean theatre touch the sheep.
Baa! they sing, and coax day