The earth under black boots
Here is the earth under black, now under blue,
And again under striped boots.
When he was not
He was believed to have worn the sign of the cave
On his ring, but he carried his sword
In a sheath. With a head chock-full of snow
He wanted to be the bridle bit.
In those days, Time was quite like he.
For a long time poems were etched on the black
Stubble fields. A pretext: Mahalaha was not.
Here is the earth under Turkish, under German,
And under Hungarian feet. Did the burial-crosses
Here the earth is ablaze.
Nero is fiddling in a dream
While the tusk of elephants
Scrape the steel of the gates of Troy.
The earth is narrow, concealing deep reasons.
Here is the earth under black, under striped,
Under boots swollen with blood. Short legs
Long legs, sitting astride. Legs further
Parted, astride. Are you asleep, dreaming?
Will the crosses on the graves rise
To defend your composure?
Is he a dream?