Ypres

1

With a chill and hazy light
the sun of a winter noon
swills
thy ruins.

Thy ruins etched
in silver silhouettes
against a turquoise sky.

Lank poles leap to the infinite
their broken wires
tossed like the rat-locks of Maenades.

And Desolation broods over all
gathering to her lap
her leprous children.

The sparrows whimper
amid the broken arches.

2

Sunset
licks the ruins
with vermeil flames.
The flames rise and fall
against the dusking sky —
against the dusking sky
flames fall and die.

Heaped in the black night
are the grey ashes
of desolation.

But even now the moon
blooms
like a cankered rose
and with a soft passionate light
kisses
the wan harmonies of ruin.
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