Until you will see the sons of Aaron
Carrying their strange light,
Assault ! assault !
The machines of you, murderous farce.
Their sad show made us believe
In our senses’ exaggerations :
Like infants, like pigs in the temple,
Like coins in pilgrims’ palms.
Sometimes are we buried so deep
In homes paid with debt, homes
Where stones upon stones
That we cannot see what’s coming
In the distance,
Spring, offering, knife.
Image credit : Terry Jo Duperrault