'hollowed under the sun and stars'

As idlers pass us by

under the Palace of leaves,

behind a grove below the sky,

a cypress tree grows, huddled in a swarm of bees.

In branches whorled and malignant

sit vultures tamed and shivering, alighting

on red breezes, off to find


to pluck out

his eyes.

They hurl epithets at one another and sigh,

swallowing halos from the dome that

hangs thick and wet beyond

Their tonsur'd heads bob to the pulse

of a cloudless sky.