Making Light

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Oxen of the Sun 389

The common passing calm
Is plugged with birds and devils
Pissing in the river of light of
The brave things shown
The other lands where passed
Holiness from hand to hand;
These mark our wickedness
Our not understanding the rest
But nonetheless pointing to the fall

Commanding the show and believing
It to be full of mothers
And other monsters, we
Who have no notion of the devil
Who are certain of their own uncertainty
Who know the hour of our death
Who creep past learned shadows
And are brave in spite of our heart of hurt,
We promise the lusty godly battle the
Notion of virtue in plagues
And the nameless voice of the low.