Souls washed up on a hot beach
or a silent peg
adrift in a newspaper office,
beast carrying my decorative belongings
over a faint hill,
and the cave mouth
slash of light at the entrance.

Armies in rows on each rib
vigilant in the bath tub.
Eyes in a peacock array
tracing wallpaper gold.

Sighted through the steam smeared window
many generations of man
and a hundred revolutions
and the last sneer
abed.