Ransought (Lorca Glosa II)

Soldiers who know no wine and no penumbra
behead the sirens on seas of lead.
Night, black stature of prudence, holds
the moon's round mirror in her hand.
                        -Federico Garcia Lorca


so the army took Diana's marble head,

        and dust of eroded columns clung equally

to forelegs of stray, dirtied hounds and the hands,

                  Soldiers who know no wine and no penumbra.


        At the campfire, the boy with the bundle asks

his fellow how many labours until he

        can count himself a Grecian hero, honestly

                  behead the sirens on seas of lead.


Another, feeding the dogs the spare olives

        off the ground, says "Herakles aint never cared

for any truth in any his situations."

                  Night, black statue of prudence, holds.

       
        Headless Diana, a mile from the fireside

leans her hips without come hither, a thorough
     
        blessing leaks through wind chipped fingernails, clenching

                  the moon's round mirror in her hand.