There is a dance that people play with knives.
A circle forms. One cuts another’s throat.
Whose cut whose turn. The sweet squeal of the stoat
teeth in a fieldmouse. It’s the end of lives
of peace and charm. It has its own high step.
Boot click against the floor. We know the tune
Fiddled by Mr Bones. We’ll hear it soon
Crusader dance to it HEP HEP HEP HEP.
All we can do is sleep to numb the pain
Dream of the small canal, an autumn kiss.
The city of my heart has come to this.
It happens now. It happens soon. Again.
Love one another. We knew this for years.
Embrace no harm feed hungry dry all tears.