Black page black
with words inked
from red and gold,
the black falling, black rising
embossing, growing
ripe like a tumour,
growling like the Tyger
that prowls the cave soul
Mythical beasts
circle in the mind
from his to mine
and back again
In the fundamental space
where the shadows wrestle
and angels run naked
through the breaking waves
I hear grinding stones
and clattering bones,
petals falling silently
crushed by the crowd
Inside the Tyger
is the grace of the lamb,
the ever-loving heart
tears from the black eyes
flow in and down the throat,
spat from the mouth
in theatrical cries
more real than real
father split open
to love the whole world
rain down on my dry bone dreams
and punish me with kisses
'til I rise from my knees
and struggle on
with the cross
to the top of the hill.