Compline Waters
speak around the reeds
their flow is choked with objects of a dismal kind
mudded thick is swelling river proud
Lord we are thick with shoes
we are thick with hands and feet
night is the bump of floating masses
the gulp of the current
buoyant tropes
violence up stream has shed its water
the masks are fixed on the stars
locked in agony
the waves rise and bear features
and the stars further squint
sick to light the horror
There is no peace from the heat of the day
it will not sink in compline waters
the river will not swallow
it only bears the violence down its length
even in the distant salt
obscurity is no deletion
The Lord almighty grant us a quiet night and a perfect end