Burning fresco of a new-image rainbow
has glint and farewell lines for
departing birds...

The refugee pledges oaths
against lies towards the arch of a
gleaned pathway

The Way-between links Sodom
with by-way museums of salt in
the assembly of gaunt, standing sticks —
on the threshold of a strafed valley,
Gomorrah runs pell-mell, naked.

And the refugee swore oaths
against lies,
but now, haunted by sacred laughters
from behind a promontory, the oaths lie.

A reproach must make him lean,
with these laughters and hums from
hostile bees; alien repasts incense
the grace, splicing flesh and bone....

O’ mercied winds,
how far do your breaths fling his loincloth?
Cover him!
Hold tight to the end-tie of the cloth
lest it flies into the open-air fire of his kinsmen yonder.

He swears against the vigour of new wine,
spitting on incest with his daughter,
within this territory Lot inherited...

And the sun, moon and stars
hold brief for him
with guards of apocalypse
on a high tempo of sacred recitations
cringing his lashes

And through the hourglass shadows
and flying lunar-glares,
the Refugee muttered oaths
but never lied...

He spliced threads of alien chaff
with scorched strands of native hair, harlotic,
and chose silently between them...

But he never lied.