Sacrilege I Poem by Pierre Rausch

Through the core that day
On the darker way
Though my divest dusk I have
Soon this day winding down
at seeded summer end
in the torrent (sun) ,
soon the (sea) shaken lane
on a breakneck of rock
tangled with chirrup
soon froth, fin, and quill
at a wood's dancing hoof,
by scammed, starfish sand
with their fish-wide cross
gulls, cockles, snail
soon out of, crow black,
tackled with cloud that kneel
to the sunset net,
geese nearly soon, boys
stabbing, and heron, he shells
that speak seven seas,
eternal waters away
from the cities of nine
soon night whose tower's day
in the religious wind
like stalks of tall strait,
at poor peace i sing
to you soon (though song
at a burning (and crested) act,
soon, the birds of fire are (in)
the world's turning soon (fast) ,
for my summon, splay sounds) ,
out of these thumbed leaves
that won't fly and fall
like leaves as soon as
as crumbled and untied
into the hog-ward / dodged night

Who are you
Who is born
In the next room