For if mine were a voice of the music of light,
and there on stony shores and craggy cusps...

The humid night, thick as tar,
Dripping from a bloodied star...

Bury your mistakes with me:
like true forgiveness, I am there...

maroon, and mottled.
stem worn thin...

and muted, like the root that digs
a deep exclusive quiet clay...

Before the spurred skin of Grendel came, 'his...
before the drifting murderer, Cain... what forces...

"by gee! you make that look easy, fella"
and i just rolled out a goofy grin, all glad...

The night air slides in again
Full pike and plumb on...

Les Darcy was a battler,
a bone rattler from Maitland...