Sprites Poem by Pierre Rausch

I wish I had time to tell
On the knock webbed outside
Where a boy
Well, here we are
In the wood farway under
To overhear guards
The size of snails
And a snarl-up
(It smote into)
That second
At the (fifteenth) century end,
Over the white crâne,
To set foot
He'll came to say,
The vanished mist,
Long gallery, murder,
Special unit
Profond charm,
CIA,
That second
At (sixteenth) century end
(A pall of cupola)
Woke to my hearing
And the knock to my net