This hero Faldon
Who tore open the mountain,
And crushed dead
The Belgai
On dead shores,
The red tide
Swept stone ends
Muttering apart
Through rooted mangrove,
Through green reeds among seagrape.
Wizard’s work, the dying said
To no one in particular,
Floating with milky eyes seaward,
War songs ended, short
Not sweet.
Who crashed down chasms of murder,
Blind with dark glitter and stilled
With wooden corticals
Of vague power.
Faldon sang blood songs,
Impaled flaming widows,
Gnawed orphan bones,
And, slouching in monstrous skins
Played iron gongs in prayer.